


Back to Work

by kel_1970



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 208,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kel_1970/pseuds/kel_1970
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Some Things To Work On." It's not necessary to have read STTWO first, but it will show you how this all came to be, and introduce you to the Shrink. This is NOT part of the "Invisible Minority" series, even though it's the same pairing.</p><p>Summary: In "Some Things To Work On," Mike and Johnny started to become good friends. In this story, Mike accidentally finds something out about Johnny that Johnny didn't want him to know, and it affects their friendship in a variety of ways. Yes, gentle readers, there will be plenty of smut.</p><p>Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I don't make a profit. All you actors who used your real names as your character names: I'm talking about the fictional characters here, so don't sue me--sue your agent. He probably has more money anyhow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beach

Mike Stoker finished his third cup of coffee of the morning, and nodded to Jim Bradley, C-shift’s engineer, as he came into the day room.

“What’s up, Stoker?”

“Nothin'. We got really lucky—only one run for the engine last night, and it turned out to be nothing.”

“Excellent! Man, there’s nothing like a day off when the shift wasn’t actually a bitch. Got any plans?”

“I'm gonna hit the beach.”

“Good day for it,” said Bradley. “You goin’ on your own?”

“No, actually. Gage just got his cast off, but he still can’t drive, and so he’s pretty much going bat-shit crazy. We're all trying to get him out of his apartment whenever we can. So I'm picking him up after I get out of here.” 

“How much longer is he supposed to be out?”

Mike shook his head. “Couple months, still. That leg was real bad. He'll have to recertify and everything before he can come back.”

“Well, if anyone could do it, it’s him.”

“I suppose so.” Mike pushed his chair back, washed his mug, and set it in the dish drainer. “Well, I guess I'll head out.”

“Say hi to Gage from me, will ya?”

“Sure. Have a safe shift.”

Mike went into the locker room, and changed into his swim trunks and a t-shirt. He stopped at the phone in the day room before leaving the station, and dialed Johnny’s number.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Hey—it’s Stoker. I'm on my way.”

“ _Great! I'm ready, and as usual, I can’t wait to get out. I'll start working on getting myself out the door, and down all my stairs, and maybe I'll even be at the bottom by the time you get here. In fact, let’s see if I can beat you._ ”

Mike frowned. “Now don’t you get stupid and kill yourself. If you fall down the stairs just because—”

Johnny’s chuckling interrupted him. “ _Damn, it’s easy to get you riled up if you know how. Don’t worry, Stoker. I know it’s not a race. And contrary to popular belief, I do know how to be careful. See you in a bit._ ”

Seven minutes later, Mike was parked in a visitor’s spot right at the bottom of the two flights of stairs that led up to the outdoor corridor that Johnny’s apartment opened onto. The stairs had been a major issue for Johnny in terms of getting out of the hospital—stairs, when you're stuck in a long-leg cast from toes to mid-thigh, are a difficult feat. But with his usual grit and determination, he worked his way up to being able to ascend and descend stairs to the satisfaction of his physical therapist, and was able to get home after two weeks in the hospital.

Mike was just starting up the stairs when he saw movement at the end of the third-floor covered outdoor corridor where Johnny’s apartment door was. He got to the top of the stairs just as Johnny arrived, aluminum crutches clunking.

“Howdy, Mike!”

“Hey. Can I take your stuff?” Mike gestured to Johnny’s backpack.

“Nah, that’s all right, I can—” Johnny caught Mike’s glare, and laughed. “By which I mean to say, sure, thank you.” He leaned on the railing of the balcony, took off his backpack, and handed it to Mike. “And now for the stairs. I tell ya, it’s a lot easier now that the cast is off and I can bend my leg a little bit.” 

They didn’t talk on the way down, as Johnny concentrated on his feet.

“See? No problem.”

Mike opened the passenger-side door and threw Johnny’s backpack in the narrow back seat of the small pickup truck. He waited for Johnny to get in, and then put his crutches in the back as well. He started up the engine, and off they went.

“Man, I can’t thank you enough for getting me out. Again.”

“You're welcome. We always have a good time, anyhow. And it’s not like I’ve got much to do.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. That was something they'd learned to appreciate about each other—that the silence wasn’t awkward. 

“Do you have a beach in mind,” Johnny asked, as Mike pulled onto the highway, “or should we just go for close?”

“Close is fine. I’ve got a favorite spot, but it’s way up by my place. So whatever place you know around here is fine.”

“Okay—just head straight west, and we'll be there in ten minutes. Where do you go, up by your place?”

Mike named a recreation area, and Johnny nodded.

“Yeah—that’s a good one. You go there a lot?”

“Uh huh. I'll often go there after a shift, before I even go home. Nothin’ like having the beach all to yourself, in the morning, in the middle of the week. It’s not too hot yet, and there aren’t that many people at eight thirty in the morning on a weekday.”

“Ah, so _that’s_ why you always have such a good tan,” Johnny said.

Mike felt his ears turning red. He was sure Johnny didn’t mean anything by that statement other than that yeah, Mike tended to be on the brown side for a white fireman. 

They chatted about this and that the rest of the way to the beach. Mike filled Johnny in on everything interesting that had happened during the last few shifts since they'd seen each other, which wasn’t actually very much. Johnny had of course heard from Roy about the fresh, green paramedic who had been assigned to the team while Johnny was out, partly to fill the gap, and partly so Roy could train the new man up a bit more, but it was interesting to hear Mike’s perspective as well.

“Yeah, Rick Phillips. Lucky for him Roy has his head on straight, and knows not to expect him to be you. But even I'm starting to have my doubts about whether he can make it or not. I mean, you know how I am with the medical stuff—just flies right past me. But from the number of times I’ve heard Roy tell him the same thing, if it’s starting to stick with me, Phillips really oughta be retaining it a bit better.”

Johnny nodded. “That’s about what I’ve heard from Roy, too. And to be honest, if Roy can’t get him ready to be independent, nobody can.”

“Here we are,” Mike said after a few more minutes.

They reversed their entry into the vehicle, and Mike carried all their things down to the sand while Johnny hobbled on his crutches.

“How about here?” Mike said.

“Suits me.”

They laid out their towels, well above the high-tide line in the sand.

“Tide'll be in after another hour or so,” Johnny said.

“How can you tell from looking whether it’s coming in or going out?” Mike asked.

“Uh, because I looked at the tide tables in the paper this morning?” Johnny said. “Nothing mystical. I don’t do mystical.”

Mike laughed. “No, you're about the least mystical person I know. Besides myself, that is. I just thought there was, I don’t know, some trick.”

“Nope. _L.A. Times,_ is all.” Johnny flexed his toes back and forth. “I think I'm gonna take a little bit of a hobble.”

“You're allowed to walk without the crutches?”

“Encouraged, actually. If I'm not in a hurry, I can walk safely. Just not fast, and I have to really think about it. And I can only go so far at this point. But watch!”

Mike watched. He saw Johnny get to his feet in a way that Mike had never been able to manage, as if gravity somehow didn’t work the same for Johnny as it did for the rest of the people in the world. Walking looked like hard work, and Johnny limped to minimize the amount of time he was supporting his weight on the injured leg. Mike was thrilled, though, to see that not only was walking possible, but Johnny seemed to be feeling positive about it.

“That’s great!” Mike said. 

“I'm just gonna go over to the lifeguard station, and back again.”

“All right.”

Mike tried hard not to watch too much. But it was fascinating to see that even with a pronounced limp, and obvious pain and weakness, Johnny still managed to move with the grace and fluidity that was his hallmark. Mike finally pulled his eyes away, just before Johnny turned around to head back. Johnny had said “watch,” but there was watching, and then there was _watching_. And _watching,_ in the way he was increasingly, maddeningly finding himself wanting to, was off limits. He sighed, and pulled a book out of his backpack. _Never gonna happen, Stoker, so don’t even think it,_ he thought.

A few minutes later, Johnny returned. “Man, that was tough.”

“Looked like it,” Mike said. 

“But you know what? When the cast first came off, I couldn’t go across the room without the crutches. So it’s a lot better already. Damned sore, though. Seems like muscles and tendons and stuff, though. The bones really don’t hurt all that much.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah. The docs say that by now the bones should be stronger in the places that they broke than anywhere else. It’s a little hard to believe, since the whole thing feels like, I don’t know, that flimsy wood they make model airplanes out of.”

“Balsa wood. It'll get better, though. It already is.”

“Yep. And the nerve damage—did I tell you about that in the hospital?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, it seems like it was temporary. No more tingling and numbness. My ankle is still weak, but the docs and I are all optimistic that it’s just disuse.”

“Just think what you'll be doing in a week,” Mike said.

“No marathons, but maybe I'll at least be able to drive by then. Okay, maybe two weeks. That'll be great, to really be able to fend for myself again.”

“I bet.”

Johnny rummaged in his pack, and brought out a magazine. They both read for a while, as the sun rose higher and the day started to heat up. Mike stripped off his shirt, and tossed it in his backpack. 

“Check that out,” Johnny said, looking up from his magazine.

“What?” Mike asked.

“Those two girls over there. The ones with the striped umbrella. No, don’t _look_ , you moron. They're checkin’ us out,” Johnny announced confidently. “In a second you can look. But not yet. That'd be too obvious.”

“You did say 'check that out,'” Mike grumbled, “which _does_ kind of mean 'look.'” 

“Yeah, okay I guess I did. All right. _Now_ you can look.”

Mike rolled his eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses, at whatever Johnny’s rules were for the situation. He did in fact check out the women, who were sitting about twenty yards up the beach. It would've been weird not to, he thought.

“Hmm. Very nice looking, but not really my type,” Mike said. “But I think you're right—they're definitely checking us out. So they're all yours, Gage. Go for it.”

Johnny looked over at the two women. One of them looked right back at him, and said something to the other, who laughed and looked as well. “Nah.”

Mike raised his eyebrows and lowered his book. “Did I just hear you say you're _not_ going to go talk to those lovely young ladies?”

Johnny laughed. “You sound like my grandmother. But yeah, that’s what I meant.”

“You're not worried about the crutches, are you? Because it seems like that could be a draw. You know, they could, I don’t know, take care of you or something. Women like that shit, right?”

“I guess.”

Mike folded down the corner of the page in his paperback and pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. He squinted at Johnny. 

“Seems like there’s more to it than that. What gives?”

Johnny considered the question, and his answer, for a few seconds. “Man, you can read me like a large print book. I guess it’s just that I'm sick of always getting dumped.”

“You must do the dumping _sometimes_ ,” Mike said. 

“Not very damned often,” Johnny said, looking away. “I guess I kinda tend to bark up the wrong tree a lot.”

“Well, to extend that metaphor, you can’t always really know what’s in the tree you're barking up, till it whatever it is comes down, right? Twenty-twenty hindsight. Monday morning quarterbacking. Whatever you want to call it. If you think like that too much, you'll just drive yourself crazy.” Even though Johnny knew Mike was working with a psychiatrist, Mike decided not to mention that those words of advice had come straight from last week’s session. 

“Yeah,” said Johnny, “but I guess it seems like I oughta be able to figure out what’s up the tree before I start backing at it. So I guess what I really meant was …”

“Was what?” Mike asked, intrigued with their botanical discussion.

“Nah, never mind.” Johnny changed the subject slightly. “But anyhow. Those girls aren’t your type, huh. So what _is_ your type, then? It wasn’t that nurse who had a crush on you when I was at Rampart, and it’s not either of those two chicks over there, who are completely different from each other, and from that nurse. Seems like we’re running out of types.”

Mike gritted his teeth. He _really_ didn’t want to be having this discussion with Gage. _Again_. “C’mon, Gage. You know I said I just got out of a relationship.”

“Yeah, but it was three months ago when you said that, and at the time, you said it was a couple months ago that it happened. Plus, I'm not tryin’ to fix you up with anyone; I'm just curious what your type is, is all. For instance, what did your ex look like?”

Mike sighed. “I _really_ don’t want to be talking about this.”

Johnny clapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry. I'm doing it again. Sorry. You said it before, that you don’t wanna talk about it. It’s just …”

“Just what?” Mike said, and then regretted it.

“It’s just, that’s the kind of thing friends talk about, right? And I thought we'd gotten to be pretty good friends.”

“We _are_ good friends. But ask yourself this: do you talk about that stuff with Roy?”

“That’s different. He’s _married_. He doesn’t _do_ all that stuff.”

“But you can still be friends with him, and not talk about your type, and his type, and whatnot?”

“Sure. Okay. I get it. The topic is officially off limits. Starting …” Johnny looked at his nonexistent watch. “… now!”

“Thanks,” Mike said. “Sorry I'm such a jerk about that stuff. But everybody’s got their things, right? And talking about my love life is one of my things.” _Like you wouldn’t believe, pal._

“No problem. I’ve sure got my things I don’t talk about, so we're even.” Johnny sat up on his beach towel, and worked his ankle back and forth. “Hey, can you pass me my bag?”

“Sure.”

Johnny pulled out his canteen, and a prescription pill bottle. “New stuff called Motrin. Great for pain and inflammation, and it’s not a narcotic, so it doesn’t make you stupid.” He downed two tablets, and rubbed his shin and calf.

Mike took the opportunity to really look at Johnny’s bad leg, which he'd avoided examining before. Compared to Johnny’s left leg, his right leg was pale, skinny, and knobby-kneed. The scars from the open fracture and the surgery to relieve the pressure from swelling inside one of the muscles were still red, especially against the pale, zombie-like skin.

“I think it’s time for a little hobble towards the water. You comin’ in?”

“You go ahead.”

  
  



	2. The Outing

Mike watched—but not _too_ carefully—as Johnny limped from their place well above the tide line down to the water. He put his sunglasses back on, and half read his book, and half kept an eye on Johnny. Mike knew Johnny was probably completely fine in the water, but still, he felt better keeping track of the location of the dark shaggy head of hair in the surf. After twenty minutes or so, he saw Johnny emerge from the water, limping more heavily than he had been before. Mike put his book down, and trotted towards the edge of the water, where Johnny had just stopped walking and was just standing there, wobbling. Mike picked up his pace when he saw Johnny suddenly sit down in the sand.

“You all right?”

“Shit. This is really embarrassing, but I guess I need those crutches.”

“Okay. I'll be right back.”

Mike retrieved the crutches from their spot, and brought them down to the water’s edge. 

“How do I help you up?” Mike asked.

Johnny stretched out a hand. “Just pull. I'll take care of the rest.”

Mike put his weight into hauling Johnny up. He was a lot heavier than he looked. Johnny took the crutches, and stuck them under his arms. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

They started slowly back to their spot above the tide line. Halfway there, Johnny turned as someone shouted his name from some distance away.

“Johnny? Hey, Johnny Gage!”

“Ohhhh, shit,” Johnny said quietly. “Um, would you mind giving me a—”

But it was too late. The blond fellow trotted up, toting his surfboard.

“Johnny! I thought that was you! Where've you been, dude? And what’s with the sticks?”

“Uh, hi, Gary. Busted my leg real bad about three months ago. Just got the cast off yesterday.”

Gary looked down, and whistled. “Boy, that musta been quite a thing. No wonder you haven’t been around the scene.”

Mike suddenly realized Johnny’s last sentence to him was probably going to be ‘Would you mind giving me a minute.’

“Uh, Gage, why don’t I let you guys catch up. I'll just—”

But Gary interrupted him. “Nah, man. It’s cool. I'm not aiming to get in the way. Me and him are ancient history, and it was just a fling, anyhow, right? Anyways, Johnny—just wanted to say hi, and see why you haven’t been around, but I guess I see why. Both reasons.” He looked Mike up and down, twice, and winked at Johnny, who was standing there looking down at his feet, like he wished he were standing in quicksand rather than regular beach sand.

Nobody said anything for several long, long seconds, as everyone processed in his own way what had just happened.

“Um, I guess I got it wrong. Sorry,” Gary said. “Sorry. Uh, get better.” He whirled around, ran off with his surfboard, and didn’t look back.

Mike and Johnny just stood there. They didn’t look at each other. 

“You should go sit down,” Mike said quietly.

“Yeah.” Johnny turned away, and made his way towards their beach towels, crutch tips sinking inches into the sand at each step. He didn’t look back to see where Mike had gone until he was firmly planted on his towel again.

Mike was just standing there, right where Johnny had left him. The surf washed over his feet each time a wave came in.

“Shit,” Johnny said out loud. “Shit. Fuck. Damn.” He lay down on his towel, and covered his face with his hands. “Shit.” 

He considered trying to pass the incident off as something other than what it really was, but quickly decided that Mike wasn’t stupid enough to fall for something like that, and that it would be insulting to both of them to even try. He couldn’t even begin to face how what just happened might affect the rest of his life, so he thought maybe he'd just focus on how it would affect the rest of his day. Probably, Mike wasn’t the kind of guy who'd just up and leave a guy on crutches stuck at the beach without a ride home. If worst came to worst, he could probably get Mike to leave him at a gas station somewhere with a pay phone, and Johnny could call Roy to come get him, or get a cab. Roy was the only person on the planet remotely connected with the L.A. County Fire Department who knew about Johnny’s flexibility in the dating aspects of his life. 

And probably, Johnny reflected, Mike wasn’t the kind of guy who'd go blabbing Johnny’s secret all over the place. But there was no way what Mike just learned wasn’t going to affect their friendship. And there was no way it wasn’t going to affect how they'd be able to work together once Johnny got back to the job. Whenever the hell _that_ was going to be.

He thought he probably ought to just put in for a transfer now, and save both him and Mike from the embarrassment of ever having to work together again.

Johnny pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Shit,” he said again.

He lay there for several more minutes, hands remaining over his eyes. He listened to the surf, and the indistinct voices of the few other people who were within earshot. He listened to the screeching gulls, and listened to the distant sound of a boat’s motor, wishing that the propeller blades of the outboard motor could chop up what had just happened and spread it harmlessly through the surf.

“Well, that was unexpected.”

The voice that suddenly appeared next to him was quiet, but Johnny nearly jumped out of his skin at its suddenness. He whipped his hands off his eyes, and propped himself up on his elbows to face Mike, who was sitting cross-legged and dripping on his towel.

“Well, now you know my shocking, disgusting secret. I don’t just go out with women.”

Mike didn’t say anything; he just sat on his towel and studied Johnny silently.

Johnny sat up. He couldn’t manage bending his knee to sit cross legged, yet, but he could manage to put his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands, to hide from the world. “All I ask is two things, and then you can wash your hands of me: drop me at a filling station somewhere, so I can call a cab. And please, please, please, don’t tell anyone.”

Mike was taking an awfully long time to say anything in reply, and Johnny was starting to worry that maybe he was going to get left on the beach after all.

“I'm not going to _tell_ anyone,” Mike said finally. “And I'm not going to abandon you at a gas station or anything stupid like that. I'm not shocked, and I'm not disgusted. I'm just surprised as all get out. And I'm sure as hell not going to wash my hands of you.”

Johnny looked up, and squinted at Mike.

“I don’t get it,” Johnny said. “You're not freaked out?”

“Nope.”

Johnny shook his head. “I still don’t get it. Why not?”

Mike frowned slightly, and then turned his frown upside down into a small smile. “Try a different question.”

Johnny looked at him blankly. “Uh, okay. Like what?”

“Like, ask me again, just one more time, what my type is,” Mike said softly, meeting Johnny’s eyes.

Johnny thought his adrenaline reaction couldn’t get any stronger, but he was wrong. He thought his morning couldn’t get any more unexpected, but he was wrong. “What’s your type, Mike?” Johnny asked, practically whispering, as his heart thudded in his chest, thinking he knew what he was about to hear. And about _that_ , he wasn’t wrong.

Mike cast his eyes over the beach. He gestured with his head towards the lifeguard station, where a tall, athletic-looking man in shorts and a t-shirt was talking to the lifeguard above. “Maybe him.” He turned his head and peered the other direction over the sand. “Or maybe the guy with the soccer ball.”

There was another long moment of silence. “You're gay,” Johnny said.

“Yep. Got it in one.”

Neither one of them said anything for a few beats. Johnny’s mind whirled as pieces of the puzzle that was Mike Stoker started flying together, and making a coherent picture. It wasn’t the picture that was on the box, but once you knew what the picture was supposed to look like, it was easy to put the puzzle together.

“Well, obviously, that doesn’t bother me,” Johnny said. “I'm just really, uh, surprised. And I guess that explains why you didn’t tell anyone about whoever you broke up with.”

“You got it. Can you picture it? ‘Stoker, why the long face?’” Mike said, in an unmistakable imitation of Chet’s voice. He continued in his own voice. “’Oh, my boyfriend, who I’ve been living with for the last couple years, just dumped me and moved to Boston.’”

Johnny cracked a small smile. “Yeah, that'd go over real great.”

The two friends sat there silently for a while. Mike pulled two sodas from the tiny cooler he'd brought, and passed one to Johnny. They sipped their drinks, and looked out over the ocean.

“Thanks for telling me,” Johnny said finally. “I think I suddenly understand you a lot better. Don’t get me wrong; you're still a man of mystery; just a lot less than before. And you know, of course, even though I'm a motormouth in general, I'm _real_ good at keeping my trap shut about important stuff.”

“I know you are,” Mike said. “And so am I.”

“Yeah. We kinda hafta be, don’t we.”

“Yep.”

Johnny worked his ankle back and forth, while Mike moved some sand back and forth from one pile to another. 

“What I said before, was exactly what happened, actually,” Mike said.

“Huh?”

“The thing I said about the boyfriend moving to Boston. We'd been living together for a couple years, and things were starting to not be so great, and he suddenly had a job in Boston. He asked if I wanted to go with him, on like a few days' notice, but I knew he didn’t mean it.”

“Sorry.”

Mike shrugged. “No, it’s all right. We were probably gonna break up anyhow, but it was just kind of … not how I would've chosen to do it.”

“Yeah. I hear ya. But are you maybe gettin’ back on your feet again?” Johnny asked.

“Sure. But, you know, it’s not exactly easy … meeting people, I mean, except in those awful pickup joints. Which do have their purposes. It’s just not my scene.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“I actually went out with someone, a couple weeks ago. A blind date, set up by a mutual friend. But it was a total disaster.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “How so? I mean, you're so easy to get along with, and open-minded—it seems like you could have a decent evening with just about anyone.”

Mike laughed. “Thanks, but this guy? He’s a big-shot lawyer, with big-shot ideas. Sues doctors for a living, apparently. Anyhow, pretty much everything that came out of his mouth either was the opposite of what I believe, or reminded me of my dear old dad, or both. It was total carnage. Well,” he said, “without any actual blood.”

“So your friend hooked you up because …”

“Oh. That’s easy. We're both gay, single, and looking, and in careers where we can’t get outed.”

“Great basis for a relationship,” Johnny said. “Anyhow—I promise I'll quit throwin’ girls at you. And I'll only throw any guys at you who aren’t total jerks. I think maybe I know you well enough to know who you wouldn’t be able to stand.”

“Fair enough,” Mike said. “Thanks. But don’t go making a personal project out of getting me a date, all right?”

“Why not?” Johnny asked, grinning. “I’ve got nothing else to do, pal. I have a loooooooot of time on my hands these days. And a lot of numbers in my little black book. So you just—”

“Gage, I'm serious! I know you and your plans. You're unstoppable, and I don’t want to have to deal with—” Mike stopped himself, mid-tirade, and scowled at Johnny. “You're yanking my chain again, aren’t you.”

“Yep!” Johnny lay back on his blanket. “Sorry. It’s kinda fun.”

“I know, I know; I'm an easy target.” Mike finished his soda. “I'm gonna go for a swim, cool off a little. It’s starting to get pretty hot.”

“Okay. I'll hold down the fort, here. I think I’ve had it for the morning, hobbling-wise.”

Johnny watched through his mirrored lenses, as Mike trotted down to the water and threw himself into the surf. Johnny wrestled with his conscience for a moment, and decided it would be okay to look. _Really_ look, with his whole brain. So he did, and he liked what he saw. He couldn’t see much, of course, as he watched Mike swim out to a buoy and back, but he got a good eyeful when Mike returned. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and a dusting of light brown chest hair. Strong tanned legs, and, as Johnny recalled from Mike’s trip down to the water, a perfect ass. The clinginess of his wet swim trunks suggested that he was well built elsewhere, too.

Johnny chewed on the insides of his cheeks as he thought about the fact that he had just ogled—no, was _still_ ogling—one of his co-workers, which was an activity that was very much on his no-no list. He took his brain out of drive, and put it in neutral for a moment. He tried to shift it into reverse, to somehow erase the thoughts that had just popped into his head, but the transmission was faulty, and he couldn’t get into the back-up gear. So he put it in park, for the moment, as Mike stood in front of him, dripping. 

“What?” Mike said, as he shook the sand off his towel and dried off.

“Nothing.” Johnny crossed his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes against the sun. His brain was in park, and the engine was still running, but the gears had mercifully stopped turning. Eventually, the heat and his general lack of good sleep since his injury took their synergistic toll, and Johnny drifted off into an unsettled morning nap.

Mike thought he heard a small sound, and looked up from his book. He shook his head slightly—Gage could fall asleep at the drop of a hat. He watched the regular rise and fall of Johnny’s chest as he breathed. He let his eyes wander up, where they could see Johnny’s pulse at his carotid, and his full, slightly open lips. 

And he stopped himself right there. _Quit it, Stoker. Just because you just found out the guy’s door swings both ways doesn’t give you license to look at him as anything other than a friend. Who you work with_. He popped open another soda, and turned his attention back to his spy novel. In short order, he found his neck jerking his head up as he yanked himself out of sleep and back to page fifty eight.

The involuntary neck exercises happened again, and again, and Mike decided not to fight it. He set his book aside, rolled onto his belly, put his head down on his arm, and succumbed to sleep.

Twenty minutes later, a siren blared past the beach as a sheriff’s car sped down the road. Both Mike and Johnny were instantly awakened by the sound. 

“Not us,” Mike said, as Johnny looked around to find the source of the sound. “Just a cop.”

Johnny yawned and stretched. “Gettin’ kind of hot.”

“You wanna go?”

Johnny shrugged. “I could go, or stay for a while. Either way. Hey, I’ve got plenty of lunch stuff back at my place, if you wanna go back there.”

“Sure,” Mike said. “Why don’t we just head out? This place is starting to fill up, anyhow.” He shrugged his t-shirt back on, and threw all of his things into his backpack. 

**TBC**


	3. Go With the Flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny comes up with a solution to a problem.

**Chapter 3: Go With the Flow**

Johnny and Mike made their way slowly back to the parking area, and got back in Mike’s pick-up truck. “You need to pick anything up, do any errands? Stop at the store?”

“Hmm. I did a big shopping trip with Joanne the other day, so I think I'm mostly—oh, wait. Milk. Yeah—if you don’t mind stopping at the corner store by my place, I'll just run in and get a gallon.”

“Sure—but seriously, if you need to stop anywhere else, it’s no problem. Or if you need to go anywhere after lunch.”

“Okay, thanks. I can’t think of anything, though.”

“Well, maybe something will occur to you. Oh, and I'm not leaving your apartment until you give me something to do, or fix, or help with in some way. Just so we're clear on that.”

“All right, all right,” Johnny grumbled. “I know I'm bad at asking for help. Still. But yeah—there’s a couple things I could really use a hand with. So thanks.”

They stopped at the store, and bought milk, and, on impulse, cookies. They were quickly back at Johnny’s apartment. Johnny opened the door, and immediately went into the living room and turned on the AC unit. 

“So, what can I give you a hand with?” Mike asked, after he put the milk in the refrigerator. 

“Well, one thing I still can’t do at _all_ is vacuum. I tried it yesterday, and nearly ended up flat on my face. So if you don’t mind, the whole place could use a going over.”

“Of course I don’t mind. Where do you keep your vacuum cleaner?”

“Closet, right by the door. Thanks a lot—I'll just pick up a little in the bedroom so you can get in there, and then I'll make us some lunch. ‘Cause that, I can do without falling over.”

Mike pulled out the vacuum cleaner, and set to work on the living room. He did a thorough job, while trying not to think about anything at all. It didn’t work. 

He went over and over what had happened that morning, and came to the same conclusion each time: just because Johnny was bi, didn’t mean he was interested. And there was no way someone like Johnny would be interested in him. Why would someone so alive, so vibrant, so outgoing, so gorgeous, possibly be interested in someone so quiet, plain, introverted, and anxious? So Mike decided he would just have to keep on exactly the way he had. They were friends, who had just discovered they each were attracted to men. So what? That didn’t change anything. They were friends. They were friends. It was good to have friends. They might even be able to talk about things that they hadn’t been able to talk about before.

In the kitchen, Johnny wrestled sandwich ingredients into submission and made a pot of coffee. He also wrestled with himself, a bit. He thought about how he’d been accidentally outed, and had gone from sick panic, to relief, to incredulity at the situation he found himself in. He remembered really _looking_ at Mike, as he came back up from the beach, and wondered why he hadn’t ever really noticed him before. As soon as he wondered, he rolled his eyes at himself and stopped wondering: _looking_ broke the rules. Besides, why would a guy like Mike—classy, interesting, responsible, and sexy as hell—ever be interested in a guy like him—an immature, skinny, skirt-chasing imbecile who was always running off at the mouth? He took his frustration out on the sandwiches, cutting them into four pieces instead of two, and put those thoughts aside. He started thinking, instead, of men he knew who might be well-suited for Mike. He thought, and thought, and thought. And then his mind turned left, and he thought some more.

Twenty minutes later, Mike was pushing the various furniture back into position, as Johnny put plates with sandwiches out on the table. Mike poured their beverages, and they sat down to lunch. Johnny was still thinking.

“Makes me nervous when you're this quiet, Gage,” Mike said.

“Just thinking,” Johnny said.

“Uh huh? What about? Should I be starting to get worried yet?”

“Oh, just thinking about an idea I’ve been cooking up to keep myself from making a project out of fixing you up with somebody.”

“Oh, yeah. That,” Mike said. “I was half afraid you weren’t actually kidding when you talked about getting out your little black book.”

“No, don’t worry. I’m not gonna do that.”

“Okay—good. So what’s your idea, oh ye of a thousand plans?” Mike asked. 

Johnny looked Mike right in the eye. “Go out with me.”

Mike froze, and then set his sandwich back down on his plate. “As in, on a date?”

“As in, yes. Except I can’t come pick you up, so that’s all backwards. But yeah. A date. You and me.”

Mike stared into his glass of water, his mind reeling. 

“If it’s too weird,” Johnny said, “just say ‘no,’ and I'll forget I ever even asked.”

“No,” Mike said slowly. “I mean, not ‘no, I won’t go out with you.’ I mean no, it’s not weird. In fact, the only weird thing is that it’s not weird at all.”

Johnny let a few seconds pass. A K-12 on full throttle _might_ have been able to cut through the tension between them at that moment. “Then is that a yes?”

Mike nodded, very slowly. “Yeah. It’s a yes. It’s completely crazy, but it’s a definite yes.”

“Good.” One corner of Johnny’s mouth moved up in a tiny smile. “Good.”

“When were you thinking?” Mike asked.

“Oh, well, no sense in puttin’ it off. How 'bout tonight?”

“Yeah. No time like the present.” Mike cleared his throat. “Okay. What time should I come get you?”

“Let’s see, it’s just after one now, so how about six?” Johnny said. “Don’t dress up. And you actually _do_ look like you think it’s weird, you know.”

“Uh, I’ve never been on a first date before with someone I actually _know_. That’s the only weird thing.”

“I know. And that we work together. Or, we _did_ work together, and we will again. Hopefully. _That_ could be weird,” Johnny said. 

“Frankly, after what we both found out today, I think it was gonna be weird anyhow.”

“Yep. So why not go with the flow?”

Mike laughed. “You can justify pretty much anything, can’t you?” He finished the last bite of his sandwich.

“Nah. Only things that are reasonable in the first place.”

“Uh huh,” Mike said, rolling his eyes, but smiling at the same time. He gestured to Johnny’s empty plate. “You all set? I'll wash up.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Mike quickly washed the dishes, and put them in the dish drainer. He went back out to the living room, and found Johnny on the couch with his leg propped up. 

“You okay?”

“Oh—yeah. Just elevating a bit before I hafta go stand in the shower.”

“All right. Listen, I gotta go—I have a few things I need to get done today, and I’ve got a big date tonight, and I don’t wanna be late.”

Johnny grinned up at him. “Okay. See you later. And Stoker?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t go gettin’ all nervous. It’s just me. No carnage.”

“I'm not nervous,” Mike said. And, to his surprise, he realized it was true. There were lots and lots of feelings happening right now, but, for a change, true anxiety was not one of them.

“Good. See you at six. And remember, don’t dress up, or I'll look like an idiot.”

~!~!~!~

After Mike left, Johnny napped on the couch for a while, with his leg propped up. He woke up, and smiled as he remembered what was happening with the rest of his day. 

He was salty and gritty from the morning at the beach, so he hobbled into the bathroom and started the water running in the shower. He found that he still enjoyed not having to wrap up a plaster cast in a garbage bag before getting into the shower.

In the shower, Johnny indulged himself in a brief fantasy, involving Mike’s hands roaming his body, and his own hands on Mike’s chest, and then elsewhere. He let his fantasy proceed as it wished, and it led in an unsurprising direction. Johnny was half pleased, and half freaked out, that the idea of jumping into bed with Mike Stoker was seeming like a pretty good idea.

On the other hand, it also seemed like a _terrible_ idea. It violated Johnny’s biggest rule for himself, which was to never get involved with anyone remotely connected to the fire department. Not only was Mike definitely connected with the LACoFD, but he was also a shiftmate. Even thinking about asking him out should have been out of the question. But as soon as the idea of going out with Mike popped into Johnny’s head, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. After the last few months, it just seemed so … so _right_ , that knew he had to at least test the waters. 

Upon honest reflection, Johnny was surprised Mike had said yes. From everything he knew about Mike, he was a guy who liked to follow the rules. Not to a pathological extent like, say, Craig Brice, but a by-the-books guy nonetheless. He and Mike had become very good friends in the last few months, and had opened up to each other to a degree that surprised both of them. But Johnny suspected he still had a lot to learn about Mike Stoker. 

Johnny stood there in his shower, grinning like an idiot, as he realized how much he was looking forward to his evening.

~!~!~!~

Mike started the drive home from Johnny’s place in a near daze. He stopped for gas and a cup of coffee after five minutes, realizing he needed to straighten out his mind before getting on the highway. He sat at the counter of the diner attached to the gas station and sipped his coffee slowly, thinking about what he was getting himself into.

It had been a total shock to him that Johnny dated men as well as women. If Gary hadn’t come along and accidentally outed Johnny, Mike never ever would have suspected that his co-worker, who in recent months had also become one of his best friends, chased anything other than skirts. 

Mike had no doubt that Johnny really _was_ always chasing after women, trying to get dates with the new nurses at Rampart, and occasionally even not minding attention from grateful rescuees or patients. But now he also had no doubt that there was a lot of other stuff that happened in Johnny’s life that nobody knew a thing about. Gary’s sudden appearance, plus what he said, and Johnny’s various reactions afterwards, had made that perfectly clear. 

He hadn’t been really close to Johnny—or to anyone at work, for that matter—until they both had problems at the same time. Sure, they'd chatted around the station, but Mike was purposely reticent about his personal life, for obvious reasons, so he hadn’t really let anyone get close to him. Over the last few months, Mike had come to realize that in a lot of ways, despite all his talk at the station, Johnny was pretty similar in that respect. 

When he and Johnny had first started spending a lot of time together, Mike had a brief pang of lust for Johnny. But he did what he’d always done when he found himself attracted to someone who was off limits: he shoved the idea out a 90th-floor window and let it float away forever. 

Yes, Mike realized there was a lot he didn’t know about Johnny. He had no idea how he was going to go about it, since it wasn’t easy to get Johnny to talk about himself, but he was looking forward to putting some more puzzle pieces together on their date tonight. The fact that it was a date somehow opened the doors for more personal conversation, and possibly other things as well. Mike shivered briefly at the previously impossible thought of Johnny’s hands on him, and vice versa.

“You okay, Mister?”

Mike’s attention snapped back to the here and now as he looked up to see the woman behind the diner counter looking at him oddly.

“Uh, yeah. I'm fine.”

“You just looked like you seen a ghost. Got the cold chills, and all.”

“Something a little bit like that, actually. Something I'm not totally sure I believe in.” He put twice the cost of a cup of coffee on the counter, went out to the parking lot, and started his truck back up again for the rest of the drive home.

**TBC**


	4. Dinner at Romano's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first date.

**Chapter 4: Dinner at Romano’s**

At six sharp—and Johnny hadn’t been expecting anything different—there was a knock at Johnny’s door. He hobbled to the door, sans crutches, and opened it.

“Hey, Stoker. C'mon in. I'm just gonna grab my crutches, and then we can head out.” Johnny grabbed his wallet off the table, and shoved it in his back pocket. He fetched his crutches from the closet by the door, and they were off.

“So, where to, Gage?” Mike asked, after they were both seated in his truck.

“You like Italian?”

“Uh, who’s the spaghetti champion of Station 51? Of course I like Italian. Actually, my mother’s mother was Italian, but I never learned to make most of her specialties.”

“All right—then you'll love this place. Take a left out of the parking lot, and then the first right.”

They chatted easily on the way to the restaurant, the conversation interrupted here and there by navigation instructions.

“Okay, it’s just up here on the right, with the red awning,” Johnny said, after fifteen minutes or so.

The maitre d’ greeted them at the door. 

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t Johnny Gage! Sal said you were coming tonight. You've been mighty scarce, lately, pal, but I guess those crutches maybe have something to do with that, huh?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “I got busted up a couple months ago; still can’t drive. But I'm on the mend. This is my friend Mike. Mike, this is Leo; he and his brother Sal own this place.”

They exchanged polite greetings, and Leo led them to a booth in the back corner. Mike suspected that Johnny had perhaps called to request a secluded table; if so, he got just what he was looking for. Only a few other tables were occupied, as it was early on a weeknight, and they were well out of earshot of the booth Johnny and Mike had been seated at.

They sat across from each other, and tried to figure out what to say.

Mike surprised both of them by being the one to break the ice. 

“So, since we're on a date, I guess this is about when I should be starting to try to impress you somehow.”

Johnny laughed. “Well, that’s already taken care of.”

“Likewise.” Mike smiled back at Johnny, and fiddled with the candle in the middle of the table. “You know, something that’s always impressed me about you is your focus on the job. Once you get your patient, or once you get a task from Cap, it’s like your brain automatically filters out anything that isn’t relevant, but knows to let in the stuff that is relevant, so you don’t get tunnel vision. As engineer, I get a lot of opportunities to watch other people doing things, so believe me when I say that’s a rare combination.”

“I don’t know how it works,” Johnny said, folding his napkin into progressively smaller triangles. “Most of the time, I can’t concentrate on anything for more than a minute at a time, but as soon as I'm on the job—bam! Some switch gets thrown, and suddenly I don’t get distracted as bad.”

“Maybe it’s something about adrenaline,” Mike suggested.

“I thought about that. You know what’s interesting? The docs are starting to find that kids who are really hyper and distracted all the time, if you give them stimulants, they can focus better. I was a disaster that way when I was a kid, so maybe adrenaline does that for me. I don’t know.”

“Makes sense to me. Adrenaline sure can do lots of things,” Mike said.

“What got you thinking about adrenaline, anyhow?” Johnny asked. “Most people haven’t ever even heard of it.”

“Well,” Mike said, blowing out a long breath, “you know I go to the department shrink.”

“Uh huh. You mentioned that when I was still laid up at Rampart. You're still going, huh?”

“Yeah. Once a week. My next appointment is right after I get off my next shift. Then we're gonna go down to twice a month, though.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah. It’s going really well. I was on the verge of … heading in the wrong direction with some things, but now I’m on the right track. I'll tell you more about it some time. But anyhow, one of the things the doc explained to me early on was how my mental reactions to things could get shaped by an adrenaline reaction, and vice versa. It took me a while to wrap my head around it all, but it made sense in the end. So yeah, we talked about adrenaline and what it does.” 

Johnny nodded. “Can’t live without it, but it sure can get in the way sometimes. I also think some guys in our jobs are kind of addicted to it. Like, they get such a rush from adrenaline that it’s like they have to be in a job where they get plenty of it.”

“I don’t think anyone on our shift is like that,” Mike said. 

“Nope. But on B-shift—wait, let’s see if you can guess who I'm thinking of,” Johnny said, grinning.

“Thompson,” Mike said instantly. “He’s a total junkie for thrills, chills, and spills.”

“Bingo,” Johnny said. “How about C-shift?”

“Dwyer. And maybe also Reynolds.”

“Definitely both of 'em.”

“You know,” Mike said, “I bet some guys who don’t know you well would say the same thing about you.”

“Probably,” Johnny said. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“I kinda think you maybe know me pretty well.”

Mike saw the door open, so he stepped right in. “Wouldn’t mind knowing you better.”

“Same here,” Johnny said quietly. 

“Well, I guess that’s why we're here. So—ask me anything. Shit, I can’t believe I just said that. But you ask, and I'll try my best to answer.”

Johnny leaned back and looked at Mike for a few seconds. “Okay. How about this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get really mad. I mean, I’ve seen you get annoyed, irked, irritated—a _little_ bit mad. I’ve seen pretty much every other fireman I’ve ever met completely lose it at some time or another, but never you. And it’s been what—four years? So here’s my question: what makes you really, _really_ mad? So mad that you think you're gonna explode? ‘Cause there’s gotta be something. And my other question is, how come you _don’t_ ever explode?”

Mike nodded. “Those are fair questions.”

Just then the waiter came to their table. “Are you gentlemen ready to order?”

“Oh, uh, sorry—we haven’t even looked at the menus yet,” Johnny said. 

“Perhaps some drinks while you take a look?”

Johnny looked at Mike. “Bottle of red?” 

“Sure,” Mike said, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Johnny said to the waiter. “A bottle of the house red, please.”

“Coming right up,” the waiter said, as he left for the kitchen.

“You look surprised,” Johnny said.

“I just don’t think I ever saw you drink anything other than a beer. Oh, and of course all that milk you put away.”

“Well, between you and me, I don’t have much of a tolerance for alcohol. But since I'm not driving, I can pretty much ignore that. But don’t worry,” Johnny said hastily, seeing the dubious look on Mike’s face. “I'm not gonna go all stupid on ya.”

“Perish the thought,” Mike said.

Johnny laughed. “You did it again.”

“What?”

“Sounded like my grandmother.”

“Well, that might have something to do with the fact that my mother is probably old enough to be your grandmother.”

“Huh,” Johnny said. “But ya know what? I'm still waitin’ to hear about what pisses you off, actually.”

Mike laughed out loud. “Eloquently put. But okay, then; here goes. I think I'll make more sense if I answer your questions in the opposite order. The reason why you never see me blow my stack is that one thing I really can’t stand is not being in control of myself. It’s actually one of my big problems—not being able to let stuff show. Especially negative stuff. Positive stuff? I can handle that. But not the bad stuff. So I guess I don’t blow up because I’ve got my own built-in bottling factory. I store it all up, and let it out when and how I choose.”

“So what’s the bad stuff, for you?” Johnny asked. “Back to my original question. I mean, if it’s not too personal.”

“No,” Mike said slowly. “I want to tell you about it. I mean, there are lots of things that annoy me, but that’s not what you mean, is it?”

“Nope. I'm going right for the big stuff,” Johnny said. “What is it that pisses you off more than anything in the world?”

Mike thought for a moment. “I think the right word for it would be intolerance—no, injustice.”

Johnny tilted his head. “Like, unfairness in the world? Or, like bad people not getting what they deserve?”

“Partly both,” Mike said. “But really, it’s how there are some people, who just by virtue of what place they were born in, or who their parents are, or the color of their skin, or what gender they're attracted to, or anything else that you can’t change, who have everything easy. And other people, who no matter what they do, are gonna deal with shit. Or when stupid, bad things happen to good people for no reason at all.”

“Well,” Johnny said quietly. “You've hit on a topic that’s near and dear to me, for sure.”

“Yeah?”

“You bet. It’s no secret that I'm part American Indian. My mom’s side. And that we lived on a reservation when I was a kid. But everybody there turned their backs on us, since I was a half-breed. My dad couldn’t get a job with my mom’s people, since he was white, and couldn’t get a job just off the reservation, because—you guessed it—he married an Indian girl and had a half-breed kid. So then we moved to L.A., right, so he could get a better job. He did, too—right away. But the kids at school? Guess what?”

“They shunned you because you were half Indian.”

“Got it in one, Mike. So yeah, I get mad about that stuff too.”

Mike nodded. “There was this one time, when we had a call to a room-and-contents fire at a house in a really wealthy neighborhood, and I came as close as I ever came to losing it with a civilian when I heard how the homeowners talked to their maid. I swear, I was tempted to shut the pumps down, say the hydrant had gone dry, and just let the whole place go up.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Nope. I'd never actually do that.”

“I know.”

“But I literally had to bite my tongue when I heard the guy talking to Cap. Wow—I mean, he acted like he thought we were just a bunch of idiots, when he himself was the one who had apparently tossed a smoldering cigar in a wastebasket and set his study on fire. Reminded me of my dear old dad. Who hates me, by the way,” Mike added.

“That sounds like a story, too.”

They stopped their conversation briefly as the waiter brought their bottle of wine and filled their glasses. He noticed that their menus were still exactly where he'd put them, so he quietly moved away from the table.

“It’s about ten stories,” Mike said, after the waiter had retreated. “I'll give you the short version of the top two. Number one: Daddy’s little accident is queer. Number two: big lawyer man thinks even his homo son ought to be able to manage a 'real career,' not just 'a shady blue-collar working-class job.' His words, in case you wondered.”

“Yeah, I could hear the voice. Sounds like dear old dad wants you to be someone you're not.”

“Ain’t _that_ the truth,” Mike said. “He wants me to be about five things I'm not.”

“Lemme guess,” Johnny said. “A straight, married father, who’s a rich lawyer. That’s five things, right?”

Mike’s jaw dropped. “Uh, yeah. That’s all five. On the first try.”

“I guess I'm not as dumb as I look,” Johnny said, grinning crookedly.

“Don’t say that. You don’t look dumb,” Mike said quietly.

Johnny looked across the table, eyes locked with Mike’s. “How do I look, then?”

“You look like a really smart guy who tries not to look quite as smart as he is, is how you look to me. Among other things,” Mike said boldly.

“Like what?” Johnny asked. “And then, I swear, I'll spill my guts some too.”

“That’s fair. But here goes. How John Gage Looks To Me, by Mike Stoker. Now that I’ve said the title, I guess I don’t actually have the right words to finish the story. But, I, uh, couldn’t keep my eyes off you, this morning. Once I let myself actually look.” Mike was blushing heavily, but kept his eyes up.

Johnny smiled his quirky half-smile. “Well, I was glad you couldn’t see what my eyes were doing under those mirrored shades I was wearing. Once _I_ let _my_ self actually look. Because you looked pretty damned good to me, too. Dripping wet, coming out of the ocean onto the beach.” He cleared his throat. “But we oughta order, before that waiter gets impatient.”

“Okay.” Mike handed a menu to Johnny, and opened his own. “Any recommendations, or anti-recommendations?”

“Sal does a mean puttanesca sauce, if you feel like pasta. And the chicken marsala is terrific. So are all the parmagiana dishes. Just don’t get anything alfredo, though, unless you want to feel like you ate a rock.”

“I'll go with the chicken marsala, then,” Mike said. Frankly, he doubted he'd even notice his food.

The waiter came back over, having apparently noticed that they'd opened and then closed their menus. 

“All set to order?” he asked.

“Yep. Go ahead, Mike,” Johnny said.

“All right—I'll have the chicken marsala, with a side of linguini with the puttanesca sauce.”

“Make it two,” Johnny said.

The waiter nodded, and retreated once again, leaving Johnny and Mike to continue to stare at each other.

“I'm liking this date thing, Gage,” Mike said softly.

“Me too. A lot. I wasn’t sure how we'd do it—I mean, how we'd make it not just be hanging out like buddies, like always. But I think we're doing it.”

“Yeah. We are, aren’t we.” 

Johnny watched intently as Mike sipped his wine, then put it down again.

“Your turn,” Johnny said.

“Uh, my turn what?”

Johnny laughed. “To ask me whatever you want, you idiot.”

“Oh. Right. Okay—how about this. You're like Superman, on the job. It seems like nothing we ever have to do scares you. And maybe the job doesn’t. But _something_ has to. What?”

“Oooh, good one, Stoker.” Johnny rubbed his hands together. “Really good. Okay: three things. One, is the idea of being useless. So yeah, right now, I'm pretty scared about my future. And I was _way_ bad when I was first at Rampart. You might not know this, but you really helped me get through some hard times, there,” Johnny said.

Mike nodded. “I thought, maybe. I'm glad to have helped.”

“You have no idea, Mike. Especially since, I dunno, since you were kind of opening up to me, too, showing me that I wasn’t the only one who was feeling weak and vulnerable. Which, for guys like us, is a shitty way to feel.”

“The worst,” Mike agreed.

“And then there are the other two things, which I better just say before I chicken out, cause I never told anyone these. Not even Roy, and we've talked about some heavy shit. The other two are, dying alone, which I mostly just try and not think about, and, uh …” Johnny looked away for a second.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Mike said. 

“No, I know I don’t. But I want to. The third one is probably the biggest one. And that’s trusting people. I don’t mean with my life—I do that on the job every shift. But, I dunno. I guess you'd call it, trusting people with myself.” Johnny looked down at the table, and fiddled with his silverware. “And I think maybe you'll understand that, because I think maybe you're kinda the same way.”

“It’s hard,” Mike said finally, “when you're different.”

“Ain’t that the truth. And boy, am I different. A little of this, a little of that. I never seemed to quite fit in anywhere, until we all got set up at 51s.”

“Me either,” Mike said. “We're a motley crew, but we make it work.”

“Sort of,” Johnny said. “I mean, take you and me, for instance. Neither one of us knew something real important about the other, until just this morning. And even then, it was by accident.”

“True. But not all that surprising, considering where we work. ” 

They both sipped their wine, and Johnny topped off their glasses. “You look like you have something else you wanna ask me,” he said, “so fire away.”

“Okay. Does Roy know? I mean, that you're bi?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Did he find out like me?” Mike asked. “I mean, that was pretty spectacular, in retrospect.”

Johnny laughed. “Yeah, I guess it was. But Roy? No, I told him, early on in our partnership, when we started to hang out a lot. Mostly because I figured either I'd slip up, or something would happen like it did this morning, and I wanted to know one way or the other whether our team would bust up if he found out.”

“It didn’t, obviously,” Mike said. “I'm really glad to hear he’s okay with that.”

“ _Really_ glad?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah. Because, you see, if this, uh, goes anywhere—you and me—not that I'm making any assumptions, or have any expectations, or—okay, I'm just going to shut up now,” Mike said, as his face got pinker and pinker. Johnny didn’t laugh at him, though. Mike cleared his throat. “But really, I'm glad your best friend is okay with who you are.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence, which was ended by the waiter bringing their salads.

“You know what’s funny?” Johnny asked, as they worked on their salads.

“I can think of a couple of funny things, but what'd you have in mind?”

“I mean, this _sort_ of feels like a first date, but sort of _not_. It does, because it’s different from our usual stuff we do, and, I dunno, we're talking about different stuff. Personal stuff. But it doesn’t, because we're not starting from scratch. We already know each other. We already know we get along.”

“No carnage,” Mike said, grinning. “And yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Usually, I'm really nervous for first dates—not that there have been a lot of them any time recently—but not this time. Definitely a lot of stuff going through my head this afternoon, but no actual anxiety.”

Johnny fidgeted on the bench on his side of the booth, and took another bite of salad. He squirmed some more, and Mike frowned. 

“You okay?” Mike asked.

“Aw, it’s just my knee. It’s not used to being bent after three months in a straight-leg cast. I guess between the beach this morning, and the drive here, and then sitting here for a while, it’s getting to be a bit much.”

“Put your foot up on the bench next to me,” Mike said. “With the tablecloth, nobody'll be able to see, and I certainly don’t mind, and it'll probably feel better.”

“Okay, thanks,” Johnny said. He fumbled his leg around under the table, and set his foot on the bench, next to where Mike sat. Luckily, they were seated so Johnny’s bad right leg was near the wall, and not on the outside of the booth, so indeed, nobody would even notice that his foot was up on the bench.

“Better?” Mike asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Mike looked across the table at Johnny, and gently put his hand on Johnny’s ankle, sliding it up the shin to rest on the spot where the fracture had been, three months ago. Johnny jumped at the unexpected touch, but quickly relaxed, and smiled a shy smile that Mike didn’t recall ever having seen before.

“That’s nice, too,” Johnny said.

“When it happened,” Mike said, thinking back to the day when an apartment building literally blew up with Johnny still inside, “I thought for sure you were a goner. And then when Cap and Marco carried you out, a minute after the first explosion and less than a minute before the first floor flashed over, I couldn’t believe it.”

“I couldn’t believe it either,” Johnny said, “when Roy told me how the whole thing went down.”

Johnny noticed that Mike looked pale all of a sudden.

“That whole thing really shook you up, huh?” Johnny said. “I mean, obviously, the aftermath still has me shaken up, but as for the main event—well, I wasn’t actually _there_ , if you know what I mean.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah—it really, really got to me. I mean, you know about my whole freak-out a couple shifts later, that landed me in the shrink’s office. I told you about that when they were still holding you captive at Rampart. But at the time, there was a lot of other stuff going through my head, too. When I was back at 14s, before 51s opened, we lost two guys in a completely different kind of situation. A brick building that collapsed, without warning, during overhaul. One of the guys—Wyszkowski was his name—when we brought him out, afterwards, he looked like every bone in his body was broken. Probably because that was pretty much true. And that’s how you looked when Cap and Marco had you. A limp ragdoll. So that’s all I could think about. Until Roy made us all hold you down while he was working on you. Then all I could think about was how bad you were hurting, when you started screaming after you came to a little bit while Roy was working on you, and all the blood, and trying not to puke.”

“You and blood, man,” Johnny said, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work. “But you know, I don’t remember a thing from that whole incident. Seriously, though—I'm gonna be fine. For some definition of 'fine,' at least.”

“Yeah—you will. No matter how it turns out with getting back to the job, you'll do fine, Johnny. But my money is on you getting back to the job in a few more months.”

“I hope so,” Johnny said.

Mike gave Johnny’s ankle a gentle squeeze, and took his hand back to finish his salad. The waiter cleared their plates, and refilled their water glasses.

“Your main courses should be out shortly,” he said, and disappeared again.

Mike replaced his hand on Johnny’s ankle. “Any better?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. That knee just doesn’t know how to be bent for too long any more.” He shifted his leg a little, so it snugged in next to Mike’s thigh, and they both grinned at each other across the table.

“Definitely starting to feel more and more like a date,” Mike said.

“Yup!”

“This was a good idea—you and me going out. You're full of good ideas.”

“Uh huh. Got a lot more where that came from, too. Man of a thousand plans, I think you called me earlier.”

“Yeah? You got some plans?”

“Startin’ to think of one or two,” Johnny said. He couldn’t help himself, and waggled his eyebrows just a little bit, just to see what kind of reaction he'd get.

Mike blushed, and Johnny laughed. “Damn, but you're fun to mess with.”

Mike composed himself, and regained his normal coloration. He leaned back in his seat in the booth, and looked Johnny straight in the eye, smiling ever so slightly. “Just you wait, Gage. Just you wait.”

With those words, and the subtle but unmistakably feral glint that appeared in Mike’s eyes, Johnny suddenly found he didn’t _want_ to wait for whatever Mike might have meant by that. He wanted it to happen right _now_ , here, at the table. _On_ the table, even. A few scenarios popped themselves into Johnny’s mind, and it was his turn to blush, just as the waiter appeared with their food, startling them out of their suddenly blazing-hot stare-down.

They both dived right in to their meals with gusto. 

“Man, you weren’t kidding,” Mike said. “This is great.”

“Told ya. Sal’s a genius with every sauce that doesn’t contain copious amounts of cream and butter. Or maybe I should say he’s probably a genius with those, too, but it’s just not my cup of tea.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I always liked a good alfredo sauce—just on a side dish, though.”

They went through the rest of the meal with mundane conversation—nothing heavy, but still finding out new things about each other. They talked about their favorite camping places, and agreed to go on a fishing trip together as soon as Johnny was up to it. They discussed food preferences, books they'd read, and a variety of other topics that somehow didn’t get discussed by “buddies,” but were acceptable subjects in the new context they'd crafted. Neither one of them could finish his meal, in part because the portions were large, and in part because each of their stomachs was partially occupied by fluttering butterflies.

“So,” Johnny said after the waiter had cleared their places.

“So,” Mike replied, the glint returning to his gaze. “Any early morning plans?”

“Nope.”

“Wanna come over to my place for coffee?”

“Yep.”

Johnny paid the check, and left a generous tip for the waiter who knew exactly when to stay away, and exactly when to reappear, and who hadn’t tried to talk them into coffee and dessert. They slid out of the booth, and headed back to the front door of the restaurant.

Leo caught them at the door. “Did you have a good meal?”

“You bet we did, Leo,” Johnny said. “See you again sometime soon, huh?”

“Excellent,” Leo said. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

 _Yeah, I’m pretty sure we will,_ Johnny thought. 

**TBC**


	5. Coffee and Dessert at Mike's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think the title gives you some hints. :)

**Chapter 5: Coffee and Dessert at Mike’s**

  
  


“What a great place,” Mike said, as he put Johnny’s crutches in the back seat.

“Yeah. I’ve been coming here for a while. I don’t even remember how I first found it.”

Mike closed the passenger’s side door, and went around to the driver’s side. He put the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn the truck on yet. He stared at the dashboard for a few seconds, resting his wrists on the steering wheel, and then looked over at Johnny, who was already looking at him.

“No expectations, all right?”

“Yeah. Let’s just see what happens.”

They didn’t say anything the whole way to Mike’s house. At the first red light they stopped at, Johnny snuck his hand across the pointless middle seat and placed it on Mike’s leg. Mike jumped at first, but then leaned his thigh into Johnny’s touch, and smiled in the darkness. At the next red light, Mike took Johnny’s hand with his own, and held it until he needed it back to shift gears. There weren’t nearly enough red lights to suit either of them, but they made it to Mike’s house in twenty minutes of quiet driving.

Mike opened the front door, and Johnny followed him into the house. 

“Have a seat,” Mike said, gesturing to the living room. “I'll go start the coffee.” He closed the living room shades, and then left for the kitchen.

Johnny plopped down on the sofa, and listened to the sounds of Mike starting a pot of coffee in the kitchen. In short order, Mike came back, and sat down right next to Johnny, so their legs were touching. They took each other’s hand, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I like your place,” Johnny said. “When you had us all over, right after I got out of Rampart—that was the first time I'd been here.”

“You were still pretty tired then,” Mike said.

Johnny laughed. “Yeah, Roy said we were taking off early because he had to get the kids home, but it was really because I was passing out.”

“I know. I don’t think anyone else noticed, though.”

“That’s one of the things I like about you,” Johnny said. “You notice stuff.”

“And something I like about you,” Mike said, “is that you're never afraid to say what you think.”

“Yeah, well, that gets me in trouble sometimes,” Johnny said. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh, come on; it’s not like you haven’t seen it a hundred times at the station, Mike.”

“Well, then, tell me one I _didn’t_ see,” Mike said, stroking his thumb over Johnny’s thumb and the palm of his hand.

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Okay. Lemme think. Uh, all right. Here’s a good one. Before 51s opened, I was working B-shift out of 8s, and we got a call for a cat up a tree. So we're standing there at the bottom of this tree, and it’s one of those impossible ladder situations, right?” 

“Of course,” Mike said. “Roots all over the place at the base, and even if it were flat and level at the bottom, there’s nowhere to put the tip of the ladder that makes any sense at all.”

“Exactly. So stupid ol’ me, I’m standing there lookin’ up, and I go ‘oooh, cool tree. I don’t blame that cat.’ And that was it. My Cap pointed up the tree, and said ‘up you go, Gage.’ So up I went.”

Mike laughed, and squeezed Johnny’s hand. “You did kind of ask for it. And you can climb anything, as far as I’ve been able to tell.”

“Going up? That was no problem. Comin’ down, with that stupid cat yowling and hissing in the bag I stuffed it in? That made me not like that tree so much any more.”

They both heard the coffee maker’s burbling sounds cease, but Mike pointedly did not get up to serve the coffee. They looked at each other in a brief moment of ‘what-next’ silence. They caught each other looking, but rather than breaking eye contact, they kept it. Mike’s thumb continued stroking slowly over the base of Johnny’s hand.

“This morning,” Mike said quietly, “you were talking about barking up the wrong tree. And just now, you told a story about a tree. So let’s keep right on going with the tree theme.”

“Huh? How so?” Johnny turned on the sofa, just a bit, so he was facing Mike, whose eyes looked bluer and brighter than ever.

“I'm gonna go out on a limb, here, Gage.” He moved closer, and Johnny didn’t back away. “Way, way, way, _way_ out.” He looked Johnny right in the eye. “Unless you don’t think this branch is strong enough for both of us. But it looks all right to me.”

Johnny stared back at him. “Me, too,” he said quietly.

Mike moved even closer, and Johnny still didn’t pull back.

“Johnny, I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said hoarsely. “It’s definitely okay.”

Mike leaned in and brushed his lips against Johnny’s, so lightly that Johnny wasn’t sure at first if there was actual contact, or just breath. He retreated slightly, and returned, and this time, the contact was light but definite, and sent a shiver down Johnny’s spine. Johnny closed his eyes, and laid a hand on the back of Mike’s neck, just as Mike cupped the side of his face and kissed him for real, nibbling his bottom lip, then the top one. The nibbling progressed to genuine kissing, and Johnny felt the velvety tip of Mike’s tongue dart out cautiously.

Johnny didn’t need any more of a request than that. He parted his lips eagerly, and he and Mike dived into each other freely, each taking, and each giving. Mike’s fingers carded through Johnny’s hair, which he'd let grow far longer than even the non-regulation length he seemed to always get away with somehow. After a few minutes, at some unspoken signal, they pried themselves away from each other, and parted by just enough distance to look each other in the eye.

Johnny looked at Mike, whose face was flushed, his lips red and swollen. They were both breathing fast, and Johnny found that his hands were shaking slightly, though he didn’t feel nervous.

“I like this,” Mike said softly. “A lot.”

“Me too.” Johnny twisted his body to try to get closer, and huffed in annoyance.

“Your leg okay?”

“It’s fine. I'm just not sure where to _put_ it, is all. Hang on—there, that'll work. Now c’mere.” Johnny started lying back on the couch and pulling Mike down with him. Mike maneuvered his body to follow, covering Johnny’s body with his own. Johnny’s breath hitched at the first moment of frontal contact, and Mike’s heat and weight melted him down into the sofa. Johnny’s mind started to shut down as his body revved up.

The feeling of building arousal and heat was familiar to him, as was the feeling of his higher brain functions slowing as other more ancient parts of the brain took over. But what was new, was that he never, for one second, forgot who he was with, who this man was—someone he already had a strong connection with. Whatever happened tonight was going to be a good time, no question about it—but not _just_ a good time. 

After a few minutes of being able to ignore that thought, and focus on other things, the idea started to niggle at him and give him pause. Mike must have sensed something, because pulled back and pushed his weight off Johnny. He rested his weight on his knees, straddling Johnny at the hips and thighs, and brushed a lock of hair out of Johnny’s eyes as he looked at him intently.

“What’s goin’ on?” Mike asked quietly.

Johnny was silent for a moment, trying to think with his brain instead of with other parts. He thought that might be a good place to start. He licked his lips, and finally spoke.

“Everything’s fine—honest. But I think I oughta call a time out and try to think with my brain for a second, instead of anything else.”

Mike disentangled himself gracefully from Johnny’s limbs, and sat on the sturdy coffee table. Johnny sat up, and rubbed his forehead.

“Okay,” Mike said simply. “It’s all right. I’ll be right back.”

Mike went into the kitchen, and returned with two mugs of black coffee, handing one to Johnny, who was again upright on the couch. He started to sit on the coffee table again, but Johnny patted the couch next to himself, and Mike took the seat.

Johnny sipped his coffee, and set it on the table in front of them. “Sorry I'm being wishy-washy. I’ve just … never done this before.”

Mike raised both eyebrows, and Johnny laughed, the fraught mood dispelled and replaced with something far lighter.

“No, you dumb-ass! I mean, I’ve never gotten more than friendly with someone I was already good friends with before.”

Mike stared into his coffee cup. “Me neither. It’s okay to have second thoughts. We don’t have to do anything.”

Johnny picked up his coffee and sipped again. He turned the mug around and around, and swirled the coffee around. “I want to. Man, I _really_ want to … do anything. But I oughta tell you something first,” he said finally.

“Okay—tell me something,” Mike replied.

Johnny put his mug down on a coaster on the coffee table. “I'm no good at this stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Uh, I guess you’d call it … um, relationship stuff.”

“What makes you think you're any worse at it than any of the rest of us?” Mike asked.

Johnny frowned. It was a reasonable question, and it demanded a reasonable answer. “I guess,” he said after a few seconds, “it’s like I said this morning. I'm always the one that gets dumped, for one thing.”

“So, why does that make you think that means you're any worse at relationships than the rest of us?”

“Uh, I guess I must be, if I'm always getting dumped.”

Mike studied Johnny carefully. “All right—give me an example. Let’s start with Gary. Did he dump you?”

Johnny looked startled. “Uh, well, he doesn’t count. I mean, we both knew it was just gonna be a fling.”

“How about other guys?”

Johnny thought for a few seconds. “I guess,” he said slowly, “that whenever I go out with a guy, it’s generally mutually understood, in advance, that it’s just for fun. Not … you know. Serious.”

Mike curled his legs under himself, and turned sideways on the couch to face Johnny. “How about with women? Is that different for you?”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Like, it depends on the person. And the situation. I’ve had flings with women, where we both knew that was all it was gonna be. And I’ve had times where it seemed like it might go somewhere. Like I _wanted_ it to maybe go somewhere.”

Mike nodded. “And that’s when you get dumped?”

“Yeah. To be honest, it’s kind of put me off the whole thing.”

“Hmm. You can’t be _too_ put off, since after all, you did ask me out,” Mike said.

“I did, didn’t I,” Johnny sighed. “And I’m glad I did. But I guess this is what’s bugging me. With guys, for me, it’s always been a fling. But obviously, since we're already good friends, especially since the last couple months, this can’t just be a fling. Because that’s kind of insulting to both of us, I think. But to be completely honest, I'm not sure I can do a long-term thing with another guy. I mean, I always figured I'd get married someday, maybe have some kids, and two guys can’t do that, last I checked.”

“Nope. You can settle down, but you sure can’t get married. And unless something new comes along in the field of biology, no kids.”

“So I guess this is the thing: we can’t really just say this is just gonna be a fling, right?”

“Right. That … wouldn’t seem right to me.”

“Me either,” Johnny said. “But we might be looking for different things.”

“True—in the long run. But we don’t have to know what we want in the long term right now. We’re both adults. We can take it as it comes.”

Johnny tilted his head. “But I also want us to stay friends in the long run. I don’t wanna screw that up, but to be honest, I was havin’ a real good time just now, and I didn’t really wanna stop to think.”

“But you did stop to think—and so did I.” 

“I guess … it’s not that I'm not having second thoughts,” Johnny said. “Not exactly. I just—well, I just thought I should say I'm maybe not so good at relationship stuff. But I also don’t want this—whatever ‘this’ is—to just be about sex. Because honestly? I think that would wreck everything. And I guess I also don’t really know what I’m saying, because I just said that thing about not being sure about a long-term thing with a guy. I guess … it’s important to me not to fuck things up.”

“You did say before,” Mike said quietly, “that one thing you're really scared of is trusting people with yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s try this, then,” Mike said. “Let’s see if we can trust each other. We already trust each other with our lives on every shift, and even though this is harder, I think we can do it. And we'll take it from there. Does that sound all right to you.”

Johnny nodded, and reached out for Mike’s hand. “Yeah. It sounds real good.” 

“And one more thing,” Mike said.

“Uh huh?”

“What you said about how if this thing were just about sex, that it would wreck everything? It’s more to me than that, okay? I’ll tell you a story, some other time, about how I started to torture myself when we were first starting to be good friends, thinking ‘what if,’ then ‘yeah, right,’ over and over. But this is more to me than a fling, and not just because we’re already friends and we don’t wanna wreck that. Okay?”

“Yeah. Me too. I guess … I guess that’s actually what I was trying to say just now, when I called the time out. Is that this … means something to me. Whatever I mean by that. Sheesh.” 

Mike cracked a small smile. “I think it’s fair to say we agree.”

“Yeah.” Johnny lifted Mike’s hand, and kissed each knuckle, looking Mike in the eye as he did so. “You wanna get back to what we were busy with before I went all nuts on you?”

“I’ll give you one guess,” Mike said, as Johnny pulled him back down to the couch. Their mouths met, and Johnny hooked his good left leg around the back of Mike’s thigh and pulled their bodies tightly together. 

“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” Mike murmured into Johnny’s kiss. He lavished kisses on Johnny’s mouth, tasting Maxwell House but also the uniqueness that was Johnny, which he had already decided was his new favorite flavor. 

Johnny let his hands roam, and decided he needed to feel skin. He worked his fingers under the waistband of Mike’s jeans, and slowly untucked his shirt. He slid his hands up underneath, and felt Mike shiver as Johnny’s warm hands found smooth skin for the first time. He spread his hands wide across Mike’s lower back, and up as high as he could until clothing got in the way, and then down again to the waistband of his jeans. He enjoyed the feeling of Mike’s hands traveling everywhere they could reach. He loved feeling the weight and warmth of Mike’s body on his, and feeling Mike’s erection prodding his upper thigh made him arch his hips up without his even planning to do so.

Mike shifted his weight to respond to Johnny’s movement. Johnny twisted slightly at the hips to let them each get a thigh between the other’s, and Mike sighed at the sensation of their still-clothed bodies connecting in such a way. Their tongues took turns penetrating each other’s mouths in a heady dance, the suggestiveness of which caused Mike to moan breathily into their open-mouthed kiss. He sucked on Johnny’s tongue one more time, then dragged his open lips across Johnny’s jaw until they found an earlobe. He suckled there gently, and then replaced the caress of lips with tiny nibbles of teeth, enjoying the ragged sound of Johnny’s rapid breathing right next to his own ear. 

Johnny made a small sound when Mike’s weight suddenly left him as Mike pushed up and away again, hands on either side of Johnny’s shoulders. He opened his eyes, almost afraid that perhaps Mike was now having second thoughts. 

But what he saw was most definitely not hesitation. Mike’s neck and face were flushed with desire, and his eyes, pupils starting to dilate, blazed heat back down at Johnny. 

“Holy hell, Gage,” he breathed.

Johnny looked back up at him with another expression Mike hadn’t seen from him before. His high cheekbones were tinged with pink, and he swiped his tongue over his parted lips as he took advantage of Mike’s uprightness and moved his hands, still buried under Mike’s shirt, to his front, and slid them upwards, until his movement was again halted by unyielding clothing. Johnny sent his hands back around Mike’s waist, and downwards. His fingers brushed over the rivets on the back pockets of Mike’s jeans, and the nubs of metal were almost shockingly cold against the heat he felt in his own hands, and a stark contrast from the warmth of Mike’s skin.

Mike took the weight off his hands, and moved them in along Johnny’s shoulders, across his collarbones, and back out again. He dove down again and claimed Johnny’s lips with his own, until they had to part to look at each other and breathe.

“I need … I have to …” Mike lost his words, but his hands moved back across Johnny’s shoulders to the top button of his shirt, and he looked down at Johnny imploringly.

Johnny nodded, and the shy smile that Mike had first seen in the restaurant returned. Mike bit his lower lip, and his fingers worked nimbly to unfasten all the buttons of Johnny’s shirt. He untucked the shirt, and Johnny cooperated in shifting his weight so Mike could slide the shirt off him, leaving it under them on the sofa. Johnny tightened his abdominal muscles and lifted his upper body, arms over his head, so Mike could slide Johnny’s t-shirt over his head. The white t-shirt disappeared, and Mike’s hands roamed the new wide expanse of tawny skin that was his to explore. His lips followed quickly, starting in the hollow where Johnny’s collarbones met below his neck, and he mumbled something Johnny couldn’t understand.

Johnny, for his part, also craved more skin, but wasn’t in a position to take off any of Mike’s clothing. Yet. He absolutely intended to be, and soon, but for now, he was content to reach what he could. He slipped his hands back under Mike’s untucked shirt, and caressed as much of his back as he could reach, with fingertips and just a ghost of fingernails. He slid down to the waistband of Mike’s jeans, and wriggled his fingers underneath, delighting in the firm swell of his ass. Without meaning to, he grabbed, hard, gasping as Mike’s tongue found a nipple, sending an electric zap through his entire body. He felt he was becoming intoxicated by sensation, and that the only cure was more, more, more. The pounding in his chest, though, was overwhelmed by the aching heat in his groin, and again, without meaning to, he arched his hips up, instinctively seeking pressure and friction.

Mike continued to explore the new landscape of skin that was laid out under him. He rocked his hips in a counterpoint to Johnny’s movements, and shifted his mouth to Johnny’s other nipple, which heaved up and down as Johnny’s chest expanded with each breath. When that nipple was thoroughly peaked, he worked his way back up to Johnny’s neck, and trailed kisses upwards still. “What are the chances,” he whispered in Johnny’s ear, pausing to nibble the earlobe, “of getting you into my bed on the first date?”

It took Johnny a few seconds to reply verbally, but Mike wasn’t worried, because he could read the “yes-yes-yes” in Johnny’s body language.

“A hundred percent,” Johnny said finally, “unless we don’t make it that far.”

“Let’s make sure we make it that far, then,” Mike said. He shifted his weight again, pulling back a bit, and kissed Johnny soundly once more before pushing himself up off the couch, with reluctance tempered by the knowledge that good things were still to come. “Let’s get vertical just long enough to get horizontal again somewhere a lot more comfortable.” He held a hand out to Johnny, who allowed himself to be helped off the couch and led away from the living room. 

Mike and Johnny stood a foot apart, just staring at each other for a second or two, before they crashed together. They kissed desperately, hands everywhere, standing between the living room and the dining room, until Mike propelled Johnny backwards towards the other end of the dining room, cautious of his leg, but with enough force behind his movements that Johnny would know he meant business. He put Johnny up against the wall of the hallway to the bedroom, and pinned him there firmly, staring into his eyes at point-blank range.

Johnny’s breath rushed out of him as his bare back hit the cool wall. He pulled Mike closer, and was rewarded by Mike’s sturdy thigh coming up between his own. Johnny’s eyes closed, and his nostrils flared as his hands traveled downwards from the small of Mike’s back. He found the lower curve of Mike’s ass, and pulled him in so hard Mike’s feet nearly left the floor.

Mike braced his weight against Johnny, grinding to create the friction they were both craving. His mouth found Johnny’s again, and they kissed frantically, almost violently, as their hands started frenetically untucking, unfastening, unbuttoning anything that was still on. Johnny briefly lost his patience, yanking Mike’s shirt over his head with only half the buttons undone. A button pinged to the cool tile floor, unheard over the sound of two metal belt buckles clanking together.

Johnny didn’t pause for a second after he got Mike’s shirt off of him—he went straight for the belt, practically wrenching it open in his haste to get to what lay beneath. In one smooth movement, he sent Mike’s jeans and boxers down to his knees, and Mike stepped out of the pile. He grabbed Johnny by the waistband of his jeans and quickly returned the favor, leaving Johnny in nothing but his socks.

Their eyes drank each other in, but only for a few sips, as their bodies had other ideas, coming together against the wall of the narrow hallway. They both gasped as skin finally met skin.

It was almost too much, for both of them. Johnny kept his hands loosely around Mike’s lower back, and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed, breaths shallow and rapid. 

“Bedroom,” Mike whispered into Johnny’s ear. “Right now.” He peeled Johnny off the wall, and led him to the room at the end of the hall. He opened the door, sending Johnny in ahead of him and closing the door again behind him. He yanked the covers off his bed, and pulled Johnny down with him, rolling them so Johnny was on top.

“Gonna last about ten seconds,” Johnny panted.

“Me too, this time,” Mike said. “But next time? We're—aahh, fuck!” he groaned, as Johnny pressed his weight down, and started moving his hips. Mike moved with him for a few seconds, and then rolled the two of them again so he took the top position.

Leaning his full weight on Johnny, Mike yanked open a drawer of the bedside table and fished out a plastic tube. He sat up, straddling Johnny, and squeezed some lube into his palm, tossing the tube aside to land who knows where. He rubbed his palms together, and then hastily slicked up a cock with each hand. He lingered for a few strokes on Johnny’s cock, enjoying the absolutely wrecked look on Johnny’s face that accompanied his gasping breaths.

Mike picked up where Johnny had left off, with the friction this time deliciously slick, their hard cocks sliding against each other, and between their muscled bodies. Johnny slid a hand between their bellies, encouraging their cocks to line up so their sensitive undersides rubbed together in just the right way. They rutted hard against each other, mouths and tongues mirroring the frenetic movement of their bodies, heat and tingling and pleasure building. They covered the whole bed, trading positions, shifting angles, exploring new territory quickly and intensely.

At the moment he knew he was done for, Mike’s hand sought Johnny’s, and his other hand caught him around his waist and pulled him in tightly. Their eyes locked, and Johnny held his breath as Mike let out an explosive groan. Johnny could feel Mike’s cock pulsing against his own, as Mike voiced his pleasure loudly, and the combination finished him off. Johnny released his breath from between clenched teeth with a rushing sound as his own orgasm peaked, and he groaned as their semen mingled between their bodies. He instantly felt like a blob of jello, and collapsed onto Mike. After a few seconds, he rolled off, pulling Mike with him so they lay face to face on their sides, panting and sweating, stroking each other lightly until they came back to themselves and regained control of their breathing enough to speak.

Johnny put a leg over Mike’s, and brushed Mike’s damp hair off his forehead. “Guhhhnn …”

“You can say that again,” Mike said. They kissed again, slowly, with a calmness they hadn’t been able to manage before. “And you do realize, this was just a warm-up.”

“Oh, I’m warm. Believe me, I’m _very_ warm. And I think I just crossed everything but you off my to-do list for the rest of the week,” Johnny said.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

They lay there for a while, sweaty bodies cooling.

“Hot in here,” Mike remarked.

“Like I said. Very, _very_ warm. Kind of sleepy, too.”

Mike sat up. “I think we could risk a nap. A _short_ nap. Just to recharge a little. Don’t you dare move.”

“Not on your life.”

Mike reluctantly heaved himself out of the bed, and turned the window AC unit on. “Be right back.” He went into the bathroom across the hall and cleaned himself up with a damp washcloth. He took care of necessary business, washed up, and returned to the bedroom with another damp cloth, and gently took care of Johnny. He sat up and tossed the washcloth into the hamper in the corner of the room.

“Three pointer,” Johnny said. “Now get back in here.” He lifted the sheet and Mike cooperatively snuggled up next to him again, and they both finally let themselves doze off.

**TBC**


	6. Leftover Spaghetti at Mike's

**Leftover Spaghetti at Mike’s**

Johnny woke a short time later when the compressor in Mike’s bedroom window unit kicked in with a clunk. At first, he wasn’t sure what had woken him, or where he was, or who the heck was drooling on his chest. It only took a second, though, for it to all come back to him in a heady rush.

Twelve hours ago, Johnny realized, he had no idea that the situation he was in was even possible. And now—he was hooked. The feeling normally would have made him nervous, but not this time. He stroked the mousy brown head that was resting on his chest, letting his hand trace lazily down Mike’s neck and spine, and back up again and across his shoulder.

Mike’s breathing hitched, and he stirred and mumbled unintelligibly, sprawling his arm across Johnny’s chest and belly, and then fell right back to sleep.

Johnny chuckled quietly, and Mike sat upright like a shot, instantly awake. “Wha—”

“Whoa, there!” Johnny said. “’s just me!”

“Oh,” Mike said dumbly, rubbing his eyes and face. “Hey, just you. Sorry I got startled.”

“No problem.” Johnny grabbed a corner of the sheet and wiped the small puddle of drool off his chest. 

“Aw, geez—did I drool all over you?”

“In a manly sort of way,” Johnny said. He folded his hands behind his head, and lay back, grinning up at Mike.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’ at all. Just enjoying the view from down here. And thinking about everything.”

Mike grinned back at him. “Mmm, yeah. Everything. But we haven’t even gotten to _everything_ yet.”

“No, we sure haven’t. How 'bout we have a nighttime snack first, though?” 

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Mike said, punctuating his remark with a leer.

Johnny laughed. “I'm starting to think you have a seriously dirty mind hiding behind those clean-looking blue eyes.”

“You're starting to think right. And since I feel like I'm back to about eighteen years old right now, I could pretty much get right back to business.”

“Me too, except seriously, man. You know I gotta eat like every three hours, or I'm useless.”

“I know—I was just kidding. Sort of,” Mike admitted.

“It’s a serious dilemma, really—sex versus food,” Johnny said, sitting up and putting his feet on the floor. “Wonder where my shorts ended up?”

“Hallway,” Mike said. “I think. Maybe dining room. I'll go look.” He opened a drawer and pulled on some boxers, and then left the room briefly, returning with a pile of clothing. He tossed it on the bed, and pulled his t-shirt out of the pile and put it on.

Johnny sorted through the pile and found his boxers. “I sure hope you have something in your fridge besides ingredients, 'cause I'm starved.”

They went into Mike’s kitchen, and Mike opened the fridge. “You're in luck. Leftover spaghetti. In case we haven’t had enough Italian tonight.”

“It worked for us before, so the more the merrier. In fact, maybe I’ll switch to just eating Italian from now on. Let’s just eat it cold,” Johnny said, looking Mike up and down. “Get us back to ‘everything’ sooner.”

“Just this once,” Mike said. He grabbed two forks from a drawer, and they ate the spaghetti right out of the container, standing at the counter. 

Johnny opened the fridge again, and scowled into it. 

“Orange juice?”

Mike laughed. “I suppose I'm gonna open _your_ fridge next time and say ‘milk?’ in that same voice, huh?”

Johnny’s heart did a happy dance at the phrase ‘next time.’ “Yeah, all right. To each his own.” He opened a cabinet that looked like it would have glasses in it, and he was right. He got a glass of water from the sink faucet, and returned to the spaghetti container.

Within minutes, they'd polished off the leftovers. Mike put the dishes in the sink, and started running the hot water. Johnny came up behind him and reached around and shut the water off. He kept Mike pinned between himself and the counter.

“Do ya hafta do that right now?”

Mike turned around, and rested his rear against the counter. “You got something else in mind?”

“Pretty much,” Johnny said.

Just as they had when they first stood up from the couch, they stood toe to toe, looking at each other. This time, though, they didn’t come together like waves crashing on a rocky shore. Johnny reached out first, and caressed Mike’s cheek. Mike leaned in to his touch, closing his eyes, and Johnny’s hand crept around to the back of Mike’s neck. His other hand found the other side of Mike’s face, and Johnny kissed him, slowly and calmly this time. He found he had to brace one arm on the counter beside Mike, to try to keep some of the weight off his leg, but kept his other hand on Mike, eventually slipping it under the back of Mike’s t-shirt and caressing his back, running long fingers up and down his spine. 

Mike’s hands found the small of Johnny’s back, and pulled him in more tightly, letting his hands travel downwards to the firm curves of Johnny’s ass. As he worked his hands up and down, enjoying feeling every inch of Johnny’s posterior that he could reach in their current position, he could feel Johnny’s muscles quivering, trembling, especially on his right side.

“You need to not be standing up,” Mike said, “and I have a pretty good suggestion of where you could take a load off.”

“Ya do, huh?” Johnny said. “Would it by any chance be that big comfy bed we just got out of a couple minutes ago, in that nice, cool, air-conditioned bedroom of yours?” He took half a step back, but didn’t release Mike. 

“It would,” Mike said, pushing away from the counter.

“I’d race you there, but I’d end up in a cast again, so let’s just mosey on down there,” Johnny said. “Lead on, Stoker.”

Mike opened the bedroom door, and Johnny hobbled in after him, closing the door behind them and turning to face Mike. Blue eyes met brown, and both pairs of eyes were smiling.

Johnny sighed as their lips met, and he felt warmth spread through his whole body. He enjoyed the feeling of Mike’s broad hands traveling unhurriedly up and down his back. He interrupted Mike’s hands briefly to pull Mike’s t-shirt over his head. He carefully stretched the elastic of Mike’s boxers to free him completely, and let the shorts fall to the floor. He held Mike at arm’s length for a moment, just to look.

He admired the broad, tanned shoulders that tapered to a narrow but not skinny waist and hips. He brushed his palms over Mike’s light brown chest hair, which faded to nothing but a thin line down the center of his belly, a trail pointing the way to the thatch of darker curls that framed his cock, which was proudly declaring itself.

“So perfectly gorgeous,” Johnny whispered.

Mike laughed quietly. “You looked in a mirror lately, Gage? That would be _my_ definition of perfectly gorgeous.”

“Hmm, so are you saying maybe I'm your type?”

“It’s just possible that you’re the very _epitome_ of my type, but I think we need a little more experimentation, just to be sure.”

Johnny shivered as Mike’s fingers traced lightly over his chest, thumbs lingering at his nipples, teasing, circling. Every iota of sensation went straight to his cock, which was straining at the front of his shorts.

“Those need to come off,” Mike said. He worked the elastic downwards, and dropped to a knee as he lowered the shorts to the floor, hands trailing downwards.

“You're right, they really do, right n—aaaah …” Johnny wasn’t prepared for Mike’s lips to close over the head of his cock, sucking gently as his tongue swirled more moisture onto the tip. Mike didn’t stay there long, though; he rose smoothly back up to face level, where he saw Johnny’s eyes were still closed from the intensity of that one intimate touch. Mike nuzzled Johnny’s cheek with his nose, brushing their lips together lightly and inviting a deeper kiss.

Johnny accepted the invitation, and breathed into the kiss as he tasted himself on Mike’s tongue. He barely noticed that Mike was moving him, slowly, gently urging him across the few feet of the room between them and the bed.

“C’mon,” Mike whispered. 

Johnny opened his eyes again, and looked into Mike’s blue eyes. “I … uh,” he started.

“What, babe?”

Johnny’s gaze continued, but he couldn’t finish what he was going to say. He circled a hand behind Mike’s neck again, and pulled him in close, kissing him with an energy that Mike could only feel as desperation. They parted, and Johnny continued his stare. 

“I … this … uh, it’s not just about sex, right?” he asked, finally.

Mike sighed and touched his forehead to Johnny’s. He thought they'd covered this ground in their heart-to-heart earlier. But if Johnny needed reassurance, that’s what he'd get. He could feel Johnny trembling under his touch. “I meant what I said before. It’s way more to me than that, okay?”

“Yeah. Me too.” Johnny kissed Mike again, lingeringly, and backed himself up to the bed, pulling Mike down with him. They both sighed as gravity pulled Mike’s weight down, and the lengths of their bodies met fully.

Johnny’s fingertips traced Mike’s spine from nape to tailbone, and back again. He watched Mike’s eyes close at the delicate touch, and felt him shiver as he traced the same route again, with a feather-light touch. Johnny spread his hands out fully, and explored the wide expanse of Mike’s back, working his way down towards the taper of his waist. He enjoyed the sounds Mike uttered as his hands reached the swell of his ass, so he let his hands linger there, taking his time to feel the solidity, the smoothness of the curves, and the downy body hair where the cheeks met the thighs. When Johnny’s hands came together in the center, Mike gasped.

“Holy shit,” Mike said breathily, pulling his knees up towards Johnny’s thighs, allowing him better access to the hot-spot Johnny had found, where thighs and cheeks all came together. “Uhhn … right there …”

“Mmm. Well, then, on your back, babe,” Johnny said, letting Mike take the lead in rolling over.

Mike happily complied, and Johnny returned his attention to the same area, from a different angle, and with lips and tongue rather than hands and fingers, which made themselves busy elsewhere.

“Uhhhhn, _fuck_ , Johnny …”

Within a minute, Johnny had Mike writhing and panting, clutching the sheets as he sighed and moaned at every touch. Hearing and seeing Mike in such a state reaffirmed to Johnny that reaching out to Mike that very morning had been a pretty damned good idea.

Johnny took one of many possible paths, and worked his way inwards from Mike’s inner thighs, pulling a deep groan from Mike as he suckled first one ball, then the other, needing both hands and a good deal of his body weight to keep Mike still enough that the activity wasn’t dangerous for either one of them. He pulled back for a moment and considered his target, and changed his angle of attack to take Mike deeply in his mouth and throat. He enjoyed hearing Mike make noise, and plenty of it, as he demonstrated a skill that was most definitely _not_ on the competencies checklist for employees of the L.A. County Fire Department.

“I … fuh … uhhn—gonna …”

Johnny didn’t really need the warning—he could tell Mike was seconds away from coming, and already had himself well positioned. Mike’s shout as he came sent an electric surge of heat through Johnny, countered by a chill down his spine. He swallowed Mike’s come, and released Mike only when he was sure there was nothing more. He kissed his way up Mike’s heaving belly and chest until he had worked his way up to the head of the bed again. He stretched himself out along Mike’s trembling body, stroking and kissing as he saw fit, until Mike returned to himself again.

“Johnny?” 

“Uh huh?”

“Wow.” Mike rolled to his side, and he and Johnny were once again face to face.

“Yeah?”

“Mm hmm.” Mike’s mouth captured Johnny’s for a hungry kiss, and he groaned into the kiss as he tasted sex on Johnny’s lips and tongue. He flipped Johnny to his back, and rested his weight unabashedly on Johnny. He could feel Johnny’s erection between them, and rocked his hips in acknowledgment. 

“Feels like there’s something I oughta be taking care of, here,” Mike whispered into Johnny’s ear, causing the hairs on the back of Johnny’s neck to rise.

“I could dig that,” Johnny whispered back.

Mike’s lips worked their way from Johnny’s ear down the side of his neck, pausing briefly in the notch between his collarbones, before heading back up to the other ear. “I could do this all day,” he whispered. “I wanted to do all of this with you right in the back of the truck on the way home. Pull over onto the side of the road, a parking lot, a dark side street, wherever was handy, and just have my way with you.” He kissed his way back down Johnny’s neck, and started working his way down Johnny’s chest, which was tanned, from their morning at the beach, to a shade that made Mike start thinking, absurdly, of the reddish-brown Crayola crayon names. _Burnt Sienna, that was it,_ Mike thought. At the same time, he could hardly believe that they were still in the same day as the morning at the beach that had produced that tan. 

He looked up at Johnny’s face. His eyes were closed, and his nostrils were flared. He was breathing hard, but was otherwise silent. Johnny had been intensely quiet during their activities so far, and Mike knew it wasn’t because the situation dictated it. There were no thin apartment walls, no open windows. It was something else, and Mike was pretty sure he knew what it was. So he made it his goal to get Johnny to let go, _really_ let go, sometime between now and  the morning.

He returned his attention to the smooth Burnt Sienna expanse in front of him. He teased a nipple to a point with his tongue, and nipped, nuzzled, and kissed his way across to the other. Unfairly, the second nipple got more attention than the first, as Mike’s tongue swirled around it and flicked it up and down, back and forth. Mike felt Johnny’s hand tighten in his hair, and he heard the tiniest hint of a breathy moan from above at the same time as he felt Johnny’s cock twitch below. _Progress_ , he thought, as he returned to face level to kiss Johnny again, long and deep.

Mike spent a few minutes roaming and playing, looking for hot-spots, and making note of the ones he found. He wanted to keep things going for a while, so he didn’t go for the ultimate hot-spots—not yet—though they tempted him sorely as he worked on one inner thigh, then the other. When he eased off those areas, he turned his attention back to Johnny’s face, and saw his eyes were still closed.

Mike worked his way back up to be at face level with Johnny. He kissed both his cheeks, and his eyelids, and then his lips traveled to Johnny’s ear.

He found Johnny’s hand with his own, and intertwined their fingers. “Open your eyes, babe,” Mike whispered, as he nibbled Johnny’s earlobe.

“I can’t,” Johnny gasped. 

Mike planted nibbling kissed along Johnny’s jaw line, across to his other ear. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

Though he had his ideas, Mike kept them to himself at this point. “All right,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” He could feel Johnny trembling under his touch, and suddenly felt the urge, the need, to have full body contact with him once more. He lowered his weight again, and found his breath nearly squeezed out of him as Johnny let out a sound halfway between a moan and a sob, and encircled him tightly with his arms. 

“It’s all right,” Mike repeated, whispering in Johnny’s ear. “I’ve got you. You let go; I'll catch you.”

He trailed a line of kisses down Johnny’s neck, returning to his chest again. He teased a nipple with his tongue again, and this time, reached a hand down to caress Johnny’s balls at the same time. He was rewarded with a low, breathy moan. _Better._

“That’s it, babe. Let yourself go.”

Mike worked the other nipple, and applied a feather-light hint of a touch to Johnny’s cock. Johnny arched into his touch, and let out a sound that was music to Mike’s ears. “Uuhhhn!”

“I gotcha.”

Johnny flailed a hand until he found Mike’s free hand, and clutched it. His other hand found the back of Mike’s head, and followed it down—not pushing, just traveling as a passenger—as Mike left a column of kisses down Johnny’s belly.

Mike decided it was time, and licked a stripe down Johnny’s cock, from tip to balls, and back again. Johnny shouted wordlessly, and squeezed Mike’s hand. _Definite progress._

Mike swirled his tongue around the crown of Johnny’s cock, and used his free hand to cup Johnny’s balls. He felt them tightening, and he backed his tongue action down to keep things going a bit longer. Johnny wasn’t silent any more—each panting exhalation was a low groan, as Mike applied light, teasing touches and kisses to the various hot-spots he'd found earlier.

The sight of Johnny, a moaning, panting, writhing mess, on Mike’s bed, had Mike so turned on that he was rapidly building up another hard-on. And the same sight convinced Mike that it was time to finish his project.

“Wanna hear you, babe,” Mike said, as he bent back down to finish his task. “Lemme hear how you feel.” He took Johnny deeply, and applied suction as he moved his head up and down. And he heard Johnny’s sighs and groans, and finally knew that Johnny trusted him enough to let himself go.

Johnny allowed himself to revel in the moment, to think of who was making him feel this way. The familiar yet unfamiliar hands on his body, the body next to his—all the touches were loving, giving; not demanding, not rushing, not using. He let go, and he fell, and fell, and it wasn’t frightening, because he trusted he was safe. “Aaahhhn, Mikey!”

Mike let his hand take over for a brief moment so he could speak. “I gotcha, babe.”

Johnny clutched his hand to the back of Mike’s head, and squeezed Mike’s hand hard, and let out a powerful yell as his climax hit him like a crashing jetliner. Mike listened to the shuddering groans that followed, and slurped and swallowed till there was nothing left. He gave Johnny’s softening cock one last swirl for good measure, and then returned to face level, where he found Johnny’s eyes still closed. 

He kissed Johnny on his lips, which opened instantly, letting their tongues find each other, their tastes mingling in each other’s mouths. Eyes still closed, Johnny rolled to his side, and pulled Mike close, burying his face in Mike’s neck as his breathing gradually settled. Mike wrapped himself around Johnny, with an arm and a leg over his body, as Johnny returned to himself.

“Thank you,” Mike whispered in Johnny’s ear. “Thank you.”

That remark caused Johnny’s eyes to pop open. 

“Uh, I think that’s my line.” 

Mike smiled, and shook his head. “Not this time.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “You've got me good and confused now, Mikey. Help me out, here.” He traced patterns on Mike’s back with his fingers as he waited to hear his reply.

“Two things. First, like I said, I could do this all day. The whole shebang. With emphasis on 'bang.' 'Cause damn, Johnny—we're mighty hot together, you and me.”

“You can say that again. I think this date thing is turning out to be a really fucking good idea. But what’s the other thing? I still don’t get why you'd suck my brains out my dick and then thank me.”

“Ah—see, the best part, for me, was seeing you let go. Seeing that you trusted me enough to really let yourself go. I liked that. I liked that an awful lot, Johnny.”

Johnny looked at Mike with a shyness that he'd never seen from those eyes before. “I, uh, never did that before. With anyone.”

“I know. You trusted me. I’m glad.” Mike kissed Johnny gently. “Did you like it?”

“Which part? The trusting, or the letting go, or the getting blown?”

“Anything.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I liked all of it. It’s, uh … it’s a good combination.”

“I think so too,” Mike said. “And it looks great on you.”

Even through his already-flushed skin, Johnny managed to blush. Mike drew circles on Johnny’s bare skin with one hand, and held Johnny’s free hand with the other.

“I’d really like it if you stayed over tonight,” Mike said. “But if it doesn’t seem right to you, then that’s fine too; I can take you home any time.”

“Are you crazy?” Johnny said. “I’m not leaving this bed for anything that doesn’t involve food, sex somewhere else, or the bathroom, until at least tomorrow afternoon. If even then.” He yawned mightily.

Mike laughed. “Sounds good to me. And it’s sounding pretty sleepy in here.”

“Mmm,” Johnny said, rearranging himself so he could rest his head on Mike’s chest. Mike enfolded him with his arms, and they quickly fell asleep.

**TBC**


	7. Breakfast At Mike's

**Chapter 7: Breakfast at Mike’s**

Johnny’s eyes opened slowly, blinking at the shafts of light peeking through the slats of the venetian blinds in the unfamiliar bedroom he had woken in. He didn’t wake confused, though—he had just been having a dream where he and Mike were, for some odd reason, nestled together in the back of the squad, where the spare SCBA cylinders and other weather-proof equipment was kept. In the dream, Mike had just told Johnny that he’d always keep him safe, with water from the engine, or anything else he needed, on the job or off. Johnny had replied with a raunchy remark about charged hose lines that had seemed to make perfect sense in the dream, but was meaningless seconds later in wakefulness. 

Johnny could hear Mike snoring gently next to him, and snuggled himself in to the contours of Mike’s sleeping form. He could see the clock on Mike’s bedside table: nearly eight in the morning. He basked in Mike’s warmth and presence for a minute or two, before deciding he couldn’t put off a trip to the bathroom any longer at all. He carefully climbed out of the bed, pulled on his shorts, which were lying in the doorway, and stepped into the hallway. In the bathroom, he relieved himself, cleaned himself up so he’d be decent for anything interesting that might happen that morning, and on impulse, rifled a drawer and found a wrapped toothbrush. He helped himself to Mike’s toothpaste, and pondered his new situation while he brushed his teeth.

For the first time since returning from the hospital, Johnny was ecstatically glad he wasn’t working at the moment, because he had plans for the day—big plans. Feeling wide awake and wired like he’d had three cups of strong coffee, he tip-toed back to the bedroom, and clicked the door shut quietly behind him. He stepped out of his shorts and let them fall on the floor, to save a step that would hopefully come soon anyhow, and got back into the bed just as carefully as he had left a few minutes ago.

On the one hand, he didn’t want to wake Mike, but on the other hand, Johnny couldn’t resist the idea of waking him up really, really nicely. And it _was_ pretty late in the morning. Johnny snuggled in to Mike, who was lying on his side, just as Johnny had left him a few minutes ago. He formed a plan of attack, and let his top arm cross over Mike’s side, to reach his flat belly. He rubbed circles on Mike’s belly with the flat palm of his hand, and Mike stirred slightly. He slid his hand up higher, and ran his fingers over Mike’s chest, letting the hairs tickle his palm. Mike mumbled something unintelligible, sighed, and conveniently rolled over onto his back under the sheet. 

Johnny stealthily straddled Mike—as stealthily as he could, given that he had a knee that preferred to be straight. But he was able to bend it enough to perch with one knee on either side of Mike’s hips, and a hand on either side of his chest, letting his half-firm dick nudge up against Mike’s own. Johnny dipped his head down, and laid a row of gentle kisses from Mike’s collar bone down to a nipple, which he began circling with his tongue, all the while keeping an eye on Mike’s face to see if he was beginning to wake up.

He was. He smiled and brought his hands up to stroke Johnny’s back before he even started to open his eyes. 

“Mmm, hiya Gage,” Mike murmured, as he finally opened his eyes. “Pretty damned nice way to wake up.” 

Johnny replied by kissing him soundly, and Mike’s hands traveled up to run through Johnny’s too-long hair. Mike returned the kiss enthusiastically, and smoothed his hands downwards from Johnny’s hair until he had a double handful of muscular ass.

Mike kneaded what he’d found, and Johnny responded by rocking his hips against Mike’s, grinding their groins together deliciously. They were both fully hard now, and the friction from their movement delighted both of them.

Before Johnny knew what was happening, Mike growled playfully and flipped them over, so Johnny was on his back and Mike was looking down at him. “Shoulda asked you this last night,” Mike said. “Which way do you go? Or don’t you go for that stuff?”

Johnny grinned back up at him. “Oh, I go for ‘that stuff.’ And I’m extremely, _extremely_ versatile. Which I bet you prob’ly guessed already, though.”

“I was hoping,” Mike admitted. 

“And I bet you mostly top, dontcha.”

“Oh, so you think you’ve got my number, do you? But you’re right. I do enjoy switching things up, though, with the right person. Not that there’s been _any_ action of any kind in the last … well, I’m not even gonna _say_ how long, but you know what I mean.”

“Mmm, good, but no switching up just yet though. Because if I’m not mistaken, you’ve got something for me that I will be very, very happy to get, because it’s been an awfully long time since I got the opportunity.”

Mike rocked back on his knees and squinted at Johnny. “ _How_ long?” He knew he risked spoiling the mood by starting this conversation, but he wanted to know the total picture—didn’t want to risk fouling things up between them.

“Ummm, prob’ly, uh …”

“Spill it, Gage,” Mike said.

“Like two years since I bottomed,” Johnny blurted out all at once. “Honest, I really dig it—but it seemed like the last coupla guys I picked up, or got picked up by, or what have you, just rolled over and stuck their ass in the air, and since that was what they wanted, I was happy to oblige, and of course with chicks, me getting fucked isn’t really something that comes up for some reason, and so I’m really, really glad that you wanna do me, ‘cause damn.”

Mike laughed. 

“What?” Johnny scowled back up at him, running his hands up the insides of Mike’s thighs to show him he didn’t really mean his scowl.

“That was a spectacular sentence. And I totally wrecked the mood by bringing all this up, didn’t I?”

“Doesn’t matter. This stuff is important,” Johnny said, wiping the scowl off his face, and continuing to slide his hands up and down Mike’s thighs. “And I’m pretty sure the mood won’t be gone for long.”

“One more thing, though,” Mike said, “before we chase the mood down and get it right back again. Anything relatively normal that’s off limits?”

Johnny considered the question. “Nope. I should warn you, though, that my feet are really, _really_ ticklish, and I’m serious about that. So don’t mess with them on purpose if you value your life. You wanna write that down in your incident pre-planning notebook, or—”

“Okay, okay,” Mike said, grinning. “I know, I over-analyze like crazy.”

“I noticed. But since you brought it up, what about you?”

“Engineer has nothing to report.”

Johnny laughed. “You need to get your mind off the job, and into the gutter, all right?”

“Mm hm,” Mike said. He pushed forwards again, and covered Johnny’s body with his weight, rolling them both onto their sides but maintaining contact. He traced a line down the center of Johnny’s spine, from the back of his head to the base of his spine, and let Johnny pull him in for a kiss at the same time. His fingers traveled down, then up again, and they deepened their kiss. Johnny threw his top leg over Mike’s hip, hooking it around the back of Mike’s upper leg, pulling them even closer together, and at the same time, suggesting a new path for Mike’s fingers as they traveled down his spine once more. This time he didn’t stop at the base of Johnny’s spine, but let his hand keep going, straying into the crack of his ass, fingers gently brushing the supremely sensitive area they found.

Johnny shivered, and Mike felt it. Mike rolled them again, pulling Johnny over on top of him, and gathered up a double handful of ass in his strong, broad hands. He massaged, and stroked, and spread the cheeks to let his fingers touch at Johnny’s center, all the while enjoying the attention Johnny was paying to his mouth and his neck. Johnny hitched his good leg up along Mike’s ribcage, to allow Mike the access he was looking for.

“I just love this ass, Gage,” Mike whispered up into Johnny’s ear. 

“What, this one right here?” Johnny circled his hips so Mike’s hands traveled all over his butt, and their cocks slid over and across each other between them.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s the one, all right.” Mike pulled Johnny to him, and rolled over once again so he was straddling Johnny, who was once again on his back. “On your belly, babe, ‘cause that ass is mine.” He moved his weight so Johnny could move freely underneath him.

Johnny complied, lying on his front with his head cradled languidly in folded arms, eyes closed. He felt Mike’s broad hands caress him from shoulders to waist, and he hummed appreciatively as Mike kneaded his butt cheeks firmly. After a few minutes of this treatment, he felt Mike’s weight shift, no longer pressing him into the mattress, and then felt hot breath in his ear. 

“I wanna see that fabulous ass in the air, babe.” Mike nibbled Johnny’s earlobe as long as he was up there, and kissed his way down as Johnny changed his position. Mike noticed that Johnny’s right leg was shaking, and that it didn’t seem to be easy for Johnny to put weight on that knee. 

“Knee bad?” Mike asked.

“Yeah. Shit.”

“C’mere.” Mike scootched Johnny to the edge of the bed, and had him put his right foot on the floor, so his leg could be straight. His left knee was still up on the bed, and his ass was still right up where Mike wanted it.

“Better?”

“Uh huh.”

Mike’s warmth disappeared for a moment, and Johnny heard the ‘click’ of a plastic flip-cap opening. He heard a wet, slippery sound, and then Mike’s hands returned to work, this time with one set of fingers slick with lube.

Johnny gasped and clutched the sheets under where his hands were folded, cradling his face, as he felt a warm, slippery finger begin circling the outside of his hole. “Jesus, Mikey.”

After a little while of this treatment, the fingertip found entrance, and Johnny sighed as Mike began circling the hole from the inside, running his finger around the inside of the ring of muscle, slowly expanding his movements. His other hand roamed, caressing and stroking as it wished, until it was time for that hand to add some lube to a second finger.

He gently pressed the second finger in alongside the first, pausing to let Johnny adjust. He circled and scissored his fingers, and when Johnny started to push back against his hand, he crooked his fingers and deftly found Johnny’s prostate, stroking it a few times.

“ _Fuck_ , Mikey …”

“Soon, babe.” He added a third finger, and froze as Johnny gasped and clenched on his hand. “Breathe, Johnny.” He could feel Johnny start to relax again, and queried gently. “Okay?”

“Hell yeah.” 

Mike let his other hand slip between Johnny’s parted thighs to fondle his balls and stroke his dick, as his lubed-up fingers circled, spread, rubbed, stretched. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Johnny gasped, as Mike once again found and nudged his prostate. “ _Now_ , man, fuck me _right_ _now_.” He groaned in frustration as Mike pulled his hands away.

Mike smacked Johnny’s butt lightly, grinned, and grabbed both pillows from the head of the bed. “On your back, hot stuff.”

Johnny nearly fell off the bed as he scrambled to comply. He wasn’t used to getting fucked face to face by a guy, but he was sure Mike had his reasons, because he obviously knew what he was doing. He cooperated, lifting his hips, as Mike shoved the pillows under his hips and lower back. Johnny understood Mike’s plan of action, and hooked his left leg over Mike’s shoulder, and got his right leg out of the way as well as he could. He watched raptly, stroking his own erection, as Mike lubed himself up.

Mike bit his lower lip as he looked down at Johnny, lying there all spread out and looking oh-so-fuckable. “Johnny,” Mike said hoarsely, and couldn’t continue. He looked for another second or two, and lowered his body down, his slippery cock bumping Johnny’s, as he kissed Johnny fiercely for many long seconds.

Johnny returned the kiss, but he was the first to break away to catch his breath. “C’mon, babe. I’m beggin’ now.”

Mike pulled back slightly, and added another squeeze of lube to the head of his dick. He painted it up and down over Johnny’s ass crack, eliciting a groan from both of them.

“Do it,” Johnny finally ordered, and his words ended in a sharp exhalation as Mike pushed in slightly. He’d realized years ago that while most men viewed the initial burn of entry as a necessary evil, for him, it was a huge turn-on, for reasons that he didn’t entirely understand.

Mike breathed hard, trying to maintain his control, and as he felt Johnny adjust, he slid in some more. “Okay?”

“More,” was Johnny’s reply, and they groaned together as Mike slowly pushed the rest of the way in. Mike froze, once he was in up to his balls, trembling with the effort of not moving, to let Johnny’s body adapt to his intrusion. 

“Go,” Johnny said, eyes locked with Mike’s.

Mike pulled back and pushed in again, slowly, letting Johnny adjust to the movement before he did it again, still slowly, and again. Johnny felt so good, so tight, so perfect, and he looked so gorgeous that Mike could hardly stand it, and wondered how he’d managed not to come fifty times already in the last five minutes. He continued slowly, watching Johnny’s reactions, and seeing with satisfaction that he must be doing his job well. But he was pretty sure he could make it even better. He adjusted his angle ever so slightly, and went in harder, but still at a leisurely pace, enjoying every second, and making sure that Johnny did too.

Johnny looked up at Mike, who was trembling and biting his lip, and had the most incredible expression on his face. Johnny could hardly believe the sparks of pleasure he was getting on every thrust. He’d gotten good fucks before, for sure, but nothing like this. And he was enjoying the hell out of watching and hearing Mike—seeing his face, his eyes, hearing his voice, whether it was words or not. 

Johnny let himself go, easier after having done it once already the previous night, easier still because he was with Mike. This time, he willed his eyes to stay open, to experience the intensity of it all. He didn’t want to miss _any_ of it. And when Mike grabbed his hips and adjusted his angle of entry ever so slightly, intensifying the pleasure, Johnny voiced his pleasure uninhibitedly, clutching at the sheets as if they were all that were keeping him alive. He’d heard of guys coming without a hand ever laid on their dick, and was pretty sure he was shortly going to become a member of that club. 

Mike continued his languid pace, losing himself in the sensations and in the sounds he now realized were coming from both of them on each thrust. After a minute or two more of nearly torturously slow movement, Mike felt himself starting to lose control, his pace picking up all on its own. He knew he would come soon, and he was not, _not_ going to leave Johnny hanging, so he started reaching for Johnny’s cock, to help him along. But before he even let go of Johnny’s hip, Johnny grabbed both Mike’s hands, right where they were, and stilled Mike’s movement for a moment. At first Mike was afraid he had hurt Johnny, so he stopped dead, but then he felt Johnny’s muscles clench around him, and saw his cock pulse and spurt, as Johnny threw his head back and groaned, hard, and again, and again. 

The sight and sound of Johnny coming without Mike having even touched his cock yet, combined with the pulsing and clenching of Johnny’s muscles on Mike’s dick, nearly pushed Mike over the edge. He thrust hard, a few more times, for one final push, and emptied everything he had into Johnny’s tight ass, and collapsed onto his chest, completely spent. Johnny’s arms came up around him, and his legs as well, and they lay there entwined together, sweaty, panting, caressing each other freely as they settled back into sentience.

“Good morning,” Johnny said finally.

Mike burrowed his face into Johnny’s neck and chuckled. “Yeah, it sure is, isn’t it?”

“Never better. I mean, holy _shit_ , Mike.”

“Mmm. I agree. You wanna cap it off with a shower?”

“As soon as I can walk again. So maybe in like a couple hours or so.”

The color drained away from Mike’s face as he pulled away and looked at Johnny, aghast. “You should’ve _said_ if anything was hurting you! You should _always_ say if—” He saw the look on Johnny’s face, and flopped back down next to him. “Yanking my chain.”

“It’s just so darned yankable. But for real: that was the best fuck I’ve ever been on the receiving end of, by a lot.”

“Yeah?” Mike kissed a spot on Johnny’s neck that he suddenly decided he liked.

“Yeah.”

“Glad you had a good time,” Mike said. “Because I really, really, _really_ liked doing that with you.”

“Good.” Johnny rolled over and stretched like a cat. “How ‘bout that shower?”

“Lemme get the water going—it takes a while to get hot,” Mike said, as he pulled on his shorts.

“Unlike us,” Johnny said, poking around the room to find his shorts.

Mike laughed, and tossed Johnny’s boxers to him from the side of the bed farther from where Johnny was searching. He darted out of the bedroom, and Johnny heard the water come on, and then heard the toilet flush. He limped into the bathroom, and found Mike brushing his teeth at the sink. He nudged up behind him, and hugged him from the back. Mike pushed back towards him, careful not to knock Johnny off balance. He rinsed and spat, and wiped his face on a towel hanging by the sink, and spun in Johnny’s loose grasp.

“Hi,” Mike said, and planted a minty kiss on Johnny’s lips.

“Hi, yourself,” Johnny replied, stroking Mike’s back and butt. He could see steam coming from the shower stall; Mike noticed it too, and opened the door. 

“After you,” Mike said.

Johnny stepped into the shower, which was done floor to ceiling in dark beige tile. He passed through the stream of warm water, and made room for Mike to come in. Mike closed the stall door behind him, rinsed himself down quickly, and then maneuvered Johnny back into the water. The steam carried the scents of clean sweat and hot sex, and they both shivered briefly despite the heat of the water and the steam.

Mike lathered up a washcloth and started soaping Johnny up from head to toe. Johnny relaxed under Mike’s loving, caring touch; somehow Mike was making him feel good, and cared for, but without making him feel like a helpless patient, which Johnny had had more than enough of. Johnny let Mike take care of him, and relaxed fully under his touch. Mike lathered up Johnny’s hair, and gently rinsed him all over with the removable shower head. He put the wand back in its original position, and as he reached past Johnny to do so, Johnny pulled him closer and kissed him sweetly and for a long time. 

“My turn,” Johnny said, switching their positions. He started with the shampoo, spinning Mike so his front was to Mike’s back. He rinsed Mike’s fine brown hair, and Mike brushed the water off his eyes and turned around so they could be face to face. Johnny carefully soaped Mike up from top to bottom, lingering on some parts more than was strictly necessary for hygiene. 

Once they were both clean and rinsed, they stood together under the spray, caressing and exploring and touching until the water started to run cold. Mike shut the shower off, and reached into the linen cabinet right next to the shower. He grabbed a huge fluffy towel, and wrapped Johnny up in it, first rubbing his hair dry like he was a little kid.

Mike grabbed his own bath towel off a hook and quickly toweled himself off. He looked at Johnny, and frowned. “I’d offer you a change of clothes, but frankly, I think everything would just fall right off of you.”

“’s okay. I kinda thought it might be a _little_ forward to pack a bag last night,” Johnny said, grinning. “I can just throw on my stuff from yesterday. It was all brand spankin’ clean right before dinner, and we didn’t manage to stay in our clothes very long after that, now did we?”

Mike grinned as they headed into the bedroom again. “Nope! C’mon, let’s get dressed, and I’ll make breakfast.”

They got dressed, and went into the kitchen. 

“Okay, put me to work,” Johnny said.

“Why don’t you just sit down, and let me make breakfast?”

“Sit down? Sit _down_? You want me to sit down, after _that_?” Johnny caught the look on Mike’s face, and laughed. “Kidding, kidding again. Just kidding. I’ll have somethin’ nice to think about all day for sure, though. Can I at least make the coffee? You don’t have to stand up long for that,” Johnny said, “and I see you have one of those Mr. Coffee things, so I can’t possibly mess it up too badly, right?”

“All right,” Mike said, laughing. “I’ll make eggs and toast—how does that sound?”

“Great. Make a lot,” Johnny said, “because for some reason I’m completely famished.”

“Now why would that be?”

“Hmm, more exercise than usual, I’d say. Takes a lot out of a guy, you know.”

“I’d say you got more put _in_ you than taken out, this morning,” Mike said, completely straight-faced.

“Dirty, dirty mind,” Johnny said, grinning.

“Told ya.”

Mike quickly whipped up scrambled eggs, and by the time the coffee had finished brewing, everything was ready.

“Chow down,” Mike said, sliding a plate in front of Johnny. They plowed through their breakfasts in no time flat. Mike threw two more pieces of bread in the toaster, and plunked the fruit bowl in the middle of the table on his way back.

Johnny grabbed an apple out of the bowl, and took a bite. He leaned back in his chair and looked across the table at Mike.

“You know,” he said, chipmunking the bite of apple in his cheek so he could talk with his mouth full, “if somebody had tried to tell me twenty-four hours ago where I’d be sitting right now, and what I’d just been doing, I woulda thought they were nutso. Or high, or hypoglycemic, or somethin’.” He chewed and swallowed, and took another gargantuan bite.

“I’d’ve thought for sure they were trying to slip me up into admitting something, and I would’ve just clammed up even tighter than usual,” Mike said.

“Is that why you’re always so quiet at work?” Johnny said. “You’re afraid you’ll slip up, and get outed?”

“Sort of. I mean, if I’m just the quiet guy, nobody asks me questions, you know? And then I don’t get caught in situations where I either have to lie, or say ‘none of your business,’ and that sort of thing.”

Johnny chewed another bite of apple thoughtfully. “So, am I right that nobody who you know at the department knows you’re gay?”

“Yep. You said you told Roy you’re bi, and let me tell you, I would _love_ to hear that story some time. but there was really nobody I could possibly tell and think I might still have a job an hour later. And I made damned sure it never came up.” The toast popped up, and Mike buttered the two pieces, tossing one on Johnny’s plate and the other on his own. 

Johnny tilted his head. “What about the shrink?”

“Who, Doc Pritchard? Yeah, he knows. But all that medical stuff is confidential. And I trust him to keep it that way.”

“Just curious—but did you tell him, or did he figure it out?”

Mike laughed. “A combination, really. He figured out because of how I was using, or _not_ using, as the case may be, certain pronouns. When I was describing my break-up, I guess I was saying stuff like ‘they’ and ‘the person I was with,’ and that sort of bullshit, and Bill just started saying ‘he’ and I didn’t even notice right away. I just about shat myself when I realized I said ‘he’ right after he did, without even noticing at first what I’d said.”

“I’m glad he knows,” Johnny said. “I mean, I don’t know what you guys talk about, and it’s none of my business, and I’m not asking, but it seems like no matter _what_ you’re talking about, if it’s about yourself, and how you get along in the world, if he doesn’t know _that_ little tidbit, then it’d all be for nothing.”

“Yeah.” Mike sighed. “Yeah. I wasn’t too thrilled at the time, about him knowing, but yeah. It’s important. I mean, one of the things I’m working on is how not to be stressed out so bad all the time. And he was totally, totally right when he pointed out that having to watch your every move so you don’t get outed in a job like this is really, really stressful.”

Johnny nodded. “I can see that. I mean, I was always chasing some chick or another, enough of the time that as long as I just left the other stuff out, nobody thought anything. But man, there’ve been times …”

“Like what?” Mike asked.

“Oh, like take Gary, for instance. He was right—it was just a fling, just for fun, and we both knew it. We hooked up at the beach one weekend, and had a really good time, you know?”

“He’s not my type,” Mike said, “but I certainly understand the idea. But go on.”

“So then when I was back on shift on Monday, Chet asked me totally innocently how my weekend was, right? And stupid me, I grin real big and say how terrific it was. Of course, he couldn’t just let it be.”

“No, of course not,” Mike said, smiling. “I think I remember this one, actually—about six months ago, if I’m right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah—you said something to him about how a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, and he pestered you the rest of the shift. And Roy didn’t say a word—he probably had some idea what you’d been up to.”

“Course he did. When I’m in that kind of mood and don’t say anything about it, he gets it. Anyhow—I mean, it’s not really completely Chet’s fault. That sometimes I kiss and tell, and sometimes I don’t.”

“True.”

“How ‘bout you?” Johnny asked. “You ever almost blow it?”

“Uh huh. When Larry took off to Boston, I was really, really down. The week between when he said he was going, and when he actually left—that was the worst. I slept in the spare room. I’d never done that before. Even after our worst fights, or our most deadly silences—well, never mind. I shouldn’t even be talking about him.”

“This was about, what, eight or nine months ago?”

“About that. I forget. But Cap noticed. And he kept trying to worm it out of me.”

“I noticed, too,” Johnny said.

“You did?”

“Yep. I figured you didn’t want to talk about it, though, whatever it was, so I didn’t, you know, say anything.” Johnny looked at the floor. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” Mike said. “I wouldn’t have talked. How could I have?”

“You might not have talked,” Johnny said quietly, “but you woulda known that someone else cared enough to notice.” He took Mike’s hand. “So I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “Listen to me. Fuck. I sound like a girl.”

Mike sighed. “It’s all right. At risk of sounding girly myself, I always knew all of you guys cared. But—I don’t know. It’s just too much of a risk to say much of anything at all, so I just don’t bother anymore.”

Johnny finished the last bite of his apple. “What does Doc whats-his-name think of that?”

“Pritchard? He thinks it’s part of my problem, or my problem is made worse by never talking to anyone. He’s probably right.”

“How about this, though, Mike. Everyone on our shift knows you now. We all know you’re a private person, with private business. What if—and don’t take this the wrong way, all right? What if you started a conversation with someone safe—like Roy, for instance—someone who’s not gonna poke and prod? Or what if you asked someone else something, something non-personal, like about sports, maybe? And just see what happened?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. Bill—Dr. Pritchard—he suggested the same thing. But he doesn’t know the guys, you know? So I just kind of dismissed the idea. But now that you’re saying it, I don’t know. I guess it’s starting to sound like it makes some sense.”

Johnny laughed. “Now _that’s_ gotta be a first!”

“What?”

“Someone saying that me sayin’ something makes more sense than someone else sayin’ the same thing.”

Mike cracked a small smile. “You wanna hear what’s _really_ funny?”

“What?” Johnny said.

“Bill was really happy I was getting to be good friends with you. And just last week, he said he thought if I told you the truth, you might surprise me. That you’d probably be open-minded enough that it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Johnny burst out laughing. “Little did he know! Damn, that’s funny.” He suddenly stopped laughing, and froze. 

“Uh oh,” Mike said. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s gonna find out, ain’t he.”

“About us?”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn’t planning on saying anything specific. But he’s got my number, all right, and I doubt I’ll be able to pretend that something spectacular hasn’t just happened. Because it has. But I won’t say who something spectacular happened with, of course.”

“Aw, c’mon. He’ll figure it out. Who I am.”

Mike sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, he probably will. I swear, I won’t say your name, unless you say it’s okay, but honestly? He’s gonna figure it out. And he would never, ever say a thing to anyone. He told me that unless I’m a threat to myself or others, anything—anything—that’s said in his office is one hundred percent confidential. He doesn’t even write really private stuff down, except in some kind of code that only he knows.”

Mike’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched Johnny process that information.

“Okay,” Johnny said. “You might as well just tell all. Like you said, he’d figure it out. And why waste his time and your time pussyfooting around, right?”

“For real? You don’t mind?”

“I trust you. You trust him. That doesn’t necessarily mean that _I_ trust _him_ , like that ‘Socrates is a man and all men are mortal’ thing, but it’s close enough.”

“Thanks,” Mike said quietly. “For understanding. And for trusting me. I know that’s hard.”

“It’s not,” Johnny said, matching Mike’s tone. “Not anymore.”

“I trust you, too,” Mike said.

“I know ya do.” They sat there, across from each other at the table, for another minute, finishing their coffee. 

Johnny cleared his throat. “You must have stuff you wanna get done today. I mean, you probably weren’t bargaining on a twenty-four hour date.”

“Hoping beyond hope? Yes. Bargaining? Doesn’t even really matter. But I don’t really have anything I have to get done today. Not really. I have to go to the post office at some point, but that’s about it.”

“Good,” Johnny said.

“How about you? You got any time constraints?”

Johnny thought for a second. “Oh, I have PT at Rampart, but not till three. Long as I’m home by two, I can catch the 2:15 bus, which will get me there by—”

“Look. Why don’t I just take you straight there this afternoon? And then I’ll go to the post office across the street from the hospital while you do your PT, and I’ll pick you up after your appointment, and drop you at your place.”

“Really?” Johnny asked.

“Really. I kind of just want to spend the day with you, if you wanna do that.”

“Yeah. You bet I do.”Johnny paused for a second. “Um, do you, uh, wanna bring a toothbrush, and a change of clothes, and maybe have a quiet evening in at my place? And, uh, stay over, and have a seven-minute commute in the morning?”

“Yes.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “That was easy.”

“Getting me into your bed—or your life—will never, ever be difficult. Trust me on that.”

“Goes both ways, pal.”

**TBC**


	8. Afternoon Snack At Johnny's

**Afternoon Snack at Johnny’s**

Mike and Johnny passed the day quietly, reading, watching TV, and having a late lunch just before it was time to head down to Rampart. Mike dropped Johnny off at the front door, with plans to pick him up in the same place in an hour. Mike’s errand at the post office took all of five minutes, so he killed time walking up and down the strip mall adjacent to the post office. 

On impulse, he walked into a sporting goods store. He wandered around for a while, and thought about his last camping trip. It was with Johnny, Roy, and Chet—Cap and Marco had been busy. And he’d nearly frozen his ass off. It hadn’t gotten all that cold, but the sleeping bag he had was Army surplus from the Second World War, and smelled and felt all of its thirty-plus years of age. 

Dr. Pritchard was going to clear him for working OT again, so there was really no reason why he couldn’t splurge a little. He looked at a variety of sleeping bags, and asked a clerk to show him the ones that would be reasonable for anything other than winter camping, which you had to drive a fair distance for. He ended up buying a middle-of-the-line synthetic-fill bag, and couldn’t help thinking of maybe going camping with Johnny sometime soon, once he could get around a bit better. Maybe that fishing trip they talked about.

And that’s when it hit him.

There was no way—absolutely _no_ fucking way—that if this thing with Johnny turned into something, which it seemed, frankly, like it already had, that Roy wasn’t going to find out about the whole thing. There would be someone in the department—in his own station!—who knew the truth about him. The truth that could get him fired. The truth that he’d worked hard to hide, for nearly a decade. 

Mike sat down heavily on a bench outside the post office, right in front of where he’d parked his truck. He could feel himself starting to panic; he felt the tightness in his chest that made him feel like he had to breathe faster. His hands shook, his heart pounded, and no matter how fast he breathed, he didn’t seem to be getting enough air.

_Stop,_ he told himself firmly.

_I don’t need to do this._

He forced himself to slow his breathing, and used some of Dr. Pritchard’s suggested techniques to shut down his panic reaction before it got any worse.

Once he stopped shaking, he thought about the problem again, trying to stay rational. Sure—Roy would find out. But would Roy flip out? Probably not. He knew about Johnny, and worked closely with him every day, spent plenty of time with him outside work, and heck, Johnny spent a fair amount of time with Roy’s family. And nobody, but nobody, had ever found out from Roy about Johnny’s predilections, so Mike realized his secret would be safe as well. There was no reason to distrust or mistrust Roy.

No, Mike decided, Roy was safe. He wouldn’t tell anyone, and he wouldn’t be weird about it. At least, not about Mike being gay. He might, of course, be weird about Mike and Johnny getting it on. But that was a completely different issue, and one that Roy would have to come to terms with, because Mike was hoping that he and Johnny had just started together would go on for a long, long time.

Mike thought about what Johnny had suggested earlier—striking up a conversation with someone safe like Roy, just to practice talking more with the guys on his shift. He laughed out loud, causing a passer-by to take a wide berth around his bench, at the image of his first try at talking more at work being a conversation with Roy where he told him that he’d just had an extremely hot two-day date with Roy’s partner and best friend.

It wasn’t necessarily a terrible idea to open up to Roy. A little bit. But he knew he wasn’t ready to go _there_ —not quite yet. Plus, really, Johnny should have the pleasure of that little revelation. 

Mike looked at his watch, and realized he was supposed to be picking Johnny up that very second. He hopped into his truck, and tossed the sleeping bag into the back seat, next to the small bag he’d packed before they left his house. He pulled across the street and into the patient drop-off/pick-up lane in front of the hospital, and saw Johnny, who was rocking back and forth on his crutches, apparently making a game of how long he could stay up without putting a foot down. He pulled the pick-up over to where Johnny was, and reached over and opened the passenger-side door.

“Hey,” Mike said, as Johnny climbed in. “How’d it go?”

“Oh, not so bad. Got some tips for getting that knee to loosen up a little. And some exercises to strengthen the ankle up. How ‘bout you? Looks like you bought something.”

“Yup. New sleeping bag. Remember a couple months ago when you and me and Marco and Chet went camping?”

“Uh huh—it got down to nearly freezing, and you were completely miserable.”

“No more. I am now the proud owner of a modern all-synthetic three-season sleeping bag.”

“All right! I got one a couple years ago, and never regretted it.”

Mike took the turn onto the road that led to Johnny’s apartment complex. 

Johnny was quiet for a minute or two, and Mike noticed, when they were stopped at a red light, that he was chewing on his thumbnail.

“What’s the matter?”

“Huh? Oh. I, uh—something kind of occurred to me at PT.”

Mike nodded. “Roy.”

Johnny snorted. “One step ahead of me—I guess I better get used to that.”

“It’s not a competition,” Mike said mildly.

“Naw, I know, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“I know.”

“But yeah. Roy. Man, that’s gonna be weird for you tomorrow.”

Mike laughed. “I can handle it. I just won’t say anything. Like usual.”

Johnny looked over at him seriously. “You can, if you want.”

Mike frowned. “Hmm. It’s not exactly what we were talking about this morning, which I think was supposed to be more along the lines of ‘Hey, how about those Lakers?’ rather than ‘Hey, I slept with your partner the last two nights, and let me tell you, it was hot, hot, hot.’”

“Yeah, I know—I guess it was silly for me to suggest that.”

“No, it wasn’t—not at all. In fact, I had the same thought a little while ago. I just think I should probably start with the bit about the Lakers, though, in terms of opening up more at work. Besides, you and me—that’s probably something he should hear from you, not from me.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Mike pulled into the parking lot of Johnny’s building, and parked in a visitor spot. He got his bag and Johnny’s crutches from the narrow back seat of the truck, and they headed up the stairs. Johnny let them in the door, and tossed his keys in a dish on the shelving unit next to the door. He leaned his crutches up against the wall by the door and went straight to the kitchen.

“I’m gonna have some cereal—you want anything?”

“No, thanks,” Mike said. “Well, actually, yeah.”

“Like what?” Johnny asked, as he got the milk out of the fridge. “I’ve got—” He cut himself off as he saw the look on Mike’s face. 

“I know _exactly_ what you’ve got, and _exactly_ what I want. I just think I should wait to have it until you’ve had your snack, though,” Mike added.

Johnny grinned. “I’ll hurry up and eat fast, then.”

Mike sat down at the small table in the dining area. “No hurry.”

“Says you.” Johnny plunked the bowl of cereal onto the table, splashing the milk slightly. He sat down and immediately started devouring the Wheaties.

“So, what else did they say at PT?” Mike asked.

“Are you purposely trying to slow me down, here, for some reason I don’t understand?” Johnny asked. 

“Not really. Just curious, is all.”

“Oh.” Johnny talked with his mouth full as he answered. “That I gotta put heat on my knee and ankle to try to get them to loosen up, for one thing. I was doin’ it all wrong, with putting ice on them. I always thought you were supposed to ice stuff that hurts, but that’s just for swelling, and I didn’t actually do anything to the joints, miraculously. Probably because I made myself a second knee, in between the regular one and the ankle.”

Mike shuddered and paled. “How can you say stuff like that? And when you’re _eating_!”

“Sorry.”

“It’s just—I’m not immune to that stuff. Especially if it’s you.”

That remark made Johnny feel happy and sad, all at the same time. He resolved, though, to try to keep gory details to a bare minimum, and to keep an eye out for gallows humor about trauma.

“Sorry—I’m really gonna try not to creep you out.”

“Thanks. But go on.”

“Like I said, they just showed me some ankle exercises to do on the days that I don’t go in for PT. With a big rubber band thingy. Oh, and they said I was walking ten times better than the day I got the cast off, which, come to think of it, was only a couple days ago. A couple really _good_ days ago. So, progress.”

“That’s good.”

Johnny nodded. “They think maybe six weeks till I can run, and after that they say it’s just getting fit and stronger again.”

“Don’t you love that word, ‘just?’ Like it’s easy or something.”

“Tell me about it. Probably my least favorite phrase in the English language is ‘why can’t you just.’ Whenever someone says that I pretty much tune out whatever is next, because it’s obvious they don’t have a fucking clue. But actually, the ‘just’ there was mine. They didn’t give me any of that kind of crap. They know it’s all hard work.”

Mike frowned. “So why’d you say ‘just’ if it’s gonna be hard?”

Johnny finished his cereal, and put the spoon down in the bowl. “Because it’s not _waiting_. That’s what I hated about the last three months. Waiting. Not doing anything other than resting, and healing.”

“Ah. Yeah, I understand that. You weren’t in control of anything. You had to let time pass, and there was nothing you could do that would make your bones knit any faster than they were going to.”

“Bingo. I thought you might get it.”

Mike leaned his elbows on the table. “You do realize you’re talking to a total control freak here, right?”

“Yeah. So I thought you’d understand. And you do.”

“I do,” Mike said.

They looked at each other across the table. “I’m done,” Johnny said.

“So you are,” Mike said seriously. “So, uh, how are the walls in this place?”

“Cement and re-bar,” Johnny said. “Earthquake-proof. Except for the pitter-patter of little feet runnin’ around upstairs, if I didn’t see the neighbors on the corridor, I wouldn’t know they were there.”

“Excellent.”

Johnny slid his chair back from the table, and set his dishes on the counter. He turned around in the kitchen and saw Mike still sitting there at the table. He held out a hand, and Mike took it, and stood up from his seat, and allowed himself to be led down the short hallway to the bedroom.

Johnny flicked on the bedroom light, and Mike looked at the room in astonishment. “Whoa.”

“Yeah. I cleaned up after you left yesterday. Just in case. ‘Cause I know you like things neat.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I mean, if we’d come here last night instead of my place, the last thing I would’ve been looking at would’ve been the state of the room.”

“I know. But I wanted to. Now can we quit talkin’ about my bedroom, and start using it?” Johnny pulled Mike in by his belt loops, and they were again face to face and touching.

“Johnny?” 

“Uh huh?”

“I really like this. This whole thing. I _really_ liked spending the night with you, and waking up with you, and then spending the entire day together. I liked taking you to your appointment, and picking you up. And being at your place now—I like that, too.”

“Me too. A lot.” 

They leaned in, and touched their foreheads together. Just as Mike was about to kiss Johnny, Johnny spoke up again.

“You know what else I really liked?” he said in a half-whisper, lowering his head to nuzzle at Mike’s neck.

“What, babe?”

“All day, my ass reminded me of our morning. I had to think about my worst cold-water rescue right in the middle of PT.”

“Oh yeah?” Mike said into Johnny’s neck. He was slowly working his hands under the bottom of Johnny’s shirt, untucking it as he went. 

They undressed each other slowly, taking time to appreciate both the process and the outcome. Johnny pulled the covers off the neatly-made bed, and then pulled Mike with him onto the bed. They roamed and explored, taking plenty of time, as they hadn’t yet managed to do. 

Mike was uninhibitedly verbal, telling Johnny every time he liked something. As things heated up, Johnny marveled at how talky Mike got, as if he was making up for lost time, lost words. Johnny maneuvered Mike into the position he wanted him in, for one of many activities he’d been thinking about during the day, when he should have had his mind on other pursuits but couldn’t quite seem to keep it there. He sat in the middle of the bed, facing the head of the bed, with his legs spread but straight, and put a pillow between his thighs. He urged Mike onto the pillow, and Mike spread his legs around Johnny’s hips, getting their bodies as close together as possible, practically sitting in Johnny’s lap, so their cocks batted at each other.

Johnny lubed up his hand, and spread the slickness over both their cocks. Mike watched raptly as Johnny held them together, and started an easy rhythm of stroking, squeezing with firm pressure. They were perfectly matched, so each time Johnny applied a twist at the end of an upstroke, the most sensitive parts of each of them rubbed together in just the right way.

Johnny watched Mike’s face; watched him watching. Mike had almost a pained expression on his face, but Johnny knew that wasn’t it.

“Jesus, Johnny. I just fucking _love_ your hands. I love _this_. Watching you, seeing us together … uuhhhn …”

Mike put one of his hands lightly around Johnny’s busy one, not to direct or hinder his movement, but rather, he held his own hand still, so the back of Johnny’s hand brushed past his palm on each slow, leisurely stroke.

“Aaah, babe, that’s it … fuck, I could come from just _watching_ this … uhh … Johnny, oh babe … do that again …”

Johnny’s free hand rested lightly on Mike’s inner thigh, and Mike couldn’t just leave it alone. He picked it up, and started sucking the fingers lightly, one by one, pausing occasionally to talk around his treat. 

“ … you’re gonna make me come screaming … uhhn, yeah, like that … aah, Johnny …”

Johnny realized early on in their activities yesterday that he loved listening to Mike getting talky. He never would’ve thought that so much talk during sex could be such a turn-on, but there was something about Mike’s uninhibited blather that was enthralling and exciting at the same time. It got even hotter when his words started to devolve as Mike started to fall apart.

“… uhhhn … harder …”

Mike had to let go of Johnny’s hand so he could use his arm to support himself as he leaned back slightly; not pulling their bodies apart, but just bending back at the hips. Johnny saw that Mike was biting his lip in the same way as he had that morning; he took that as a good sign. He loved watching and listening to Mike get hotter and hotter; after another minute or so he couldn’t help adding his own breathy groans to the mix, with a crescendo as the sensations escalated.

Mike’s hips started arching up on each stroke, and his hand that had been hitchhiking along with Johnny’s let go, as he needed it to keep himself from falling backwards as he thrust up into Johnny’s hand. Mike’s whole body was tense, and he had lost the ability to produce any actual words. Johnny’s free hand stroked up and down the inside of Mike’s thigh, urging him along. 

Mike came hard, shouting wordlessly, hands clenching the sheets. He stayed half-hard, watching and gasping for breath as Johnny continued to work their cocks together. His hand joined Johnny’s again, but was more insistent this time.

“Lemme … babe, I wanna—”

Johnny let his hand slide out from under Mike’s, and Mike’s larger, broader hand took up where Johnny’s deft, slender hand had left off. Johnny’s breathing became faster and irregular as he quickly succumbed to Mike’s ministrations. It was his turn to lean back, to let his body take charge over his brain, and to fall apart in his lover’s hands. He had to close his eyes at the intensity of it all, shut out the visual world so he could let go completely. 

Johnny groaned explosively, and again, and let himself collapse backwards onto the bed, aftershocks coursing through his body as Mike slowly, firmly milked out the last drops of come. 

Mike released them both, spun himself around on the bed so they were side by side, and Johnny rolled towards him, and they turned into a sticky, sweaty, panting tangle. Mike stroked his fingertips up and down Johnny’s back, and Johnny combed his fingers through Mike’s hair as they settled themselves down. 

“That was … wow,” Mike said finally. “You have no way of knowing this, but I really have a thing for your hands. So … fuck. That was hot on so many levels I can’t even find the words.”

Johnny grinned. “Yeah, you seemed like you were having a pretty good time. Guess you're not _always_ the quiet guy, huh?”

Mike blushed. “Uh, I get a little, uh, talky, I guess. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize—it’s damned hot.”

“Yeah?” Mike said, as he nuzzled Johnny’s neck.

“Mm hmm. I don’t know why, but it is. There’s something about … I dunno … how you’re not just talking—you’re talking to _me_. I like it.”

They lay there for a long time, just being together, holding each other.

“I could get used to this,” Mike said.

“I think I’m already used to it,” Johnny said, surprising himself.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.” Johnny cleared his throat. “Wanna try my shower, now?”

“You bet I do.”

“Good. It’s probably not as good for two people as yours, but I bet we’ll manage just fine in close quarters.”

Mike squinted at Johnny. “‘Probably?’ Haven’t you tested it out before?”

“Oh. Uh, you see, um …” Johnny looked away to finish. “You’ll be the first person who’s ever stayed over here.”

“Seriously? You never bring any of your dates back here?”

Johnny squirmed. “Um …”

“Sorry,” Mike said. “I’m prying. It’s none of my business. I was just surprised, is all.”

“No, no—it’s okay. I guess the thing is, with the girls, first of all, it doesn’t usually get that far, and second of all if it does, it’s usually like this: I’m dropping them off after a date, and they either invite me in or they don’t. And with guys, well …”

“You don’t bring them back here, because it’s dangerous. Somebody might see, and get the wrong idea. Or the right idea, actually.”

Johnny sighed with relief that Mike understood at least part of it. “Yeah. I don’t even usually hang around the L.A. area. But the other thing is, if I bring someone home to my place, well, uh, this sounds terrible, but if they’re at my place, I can’t run away.”

“That’s true.”

“But with you, I don’t want to run away.”

Mike rolled in and kissed Johnny, to show him everything was okay on his end too. “I’m glad. I don’t, either. I get it, babe. Except for one thing. Why won’t it be a problem that people might see me going in and out of your place at all hours of the day and night?”

Johnny didn’t even have to hear the rest of what it was Mike didn’t understand to know what it was. “With you, though, it doesn’t feel dangerous. It feels safe.” He didn’t elaborate, because he wasn’t sure how to.

“Because we work together, and I’ve been here before, and … uh … no, I guess I don’t entirely get it,” Mike admitted.

“I guess … well, this sounds really dumb, and girly again, but I guess it’s because I feel safe with you.”

“That’s not dumb. It’s … nice. But, what if someone sees me leaving in the morning? Is that gonna be okay?”

“I trust you. If someone says something, which I doubt they will, you’ll know what to say.”

“And if they see us leaving together in the morning, some other time?”

“They’ll see what they’ll see, and they can draw their own conclusions. It’s none of their business,” Johnny said. “But we could always tell them that you crash here sometimes because it’s closer to the station than your place, and we have to start so early as it is.”

“That’s a good one,” Mike said. “Believable. I don’t like to lie, but sometimes … well.”

“Yeah.” 

“How about that shower?”

**TBC**


	9. Dinner at Johnny's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a particularly important phrase is uttered.

**Dinner at Johnny’s**

Half an hour later, Mike and Johnny were in the kitchen, hair damp from their shower, starting to work on dinner.

“I’ve got ingredients for meatloaf,” Johnny said. “I was gonna make it last night, but somehow that didn’t end up happening.”

Mike peered into the refrigerator. “How about this broccoli? That would go well.”

“Sure. And in the freezer there’s a tray of those rolls you can stick in the oven at the same time as the meatloaf.”

They made short work of the prep for the easy meal, and retired to the living room while the meatloaf and rolls baked. They sat on the couch, and Mike lay down, his head in Johnny’s lap.

Just as they each picked up something to read, the phone on the end-table rang. Johnny put his book down, leaving his other hand on Mike’s chest, and stretched to pick the phone up on the second ring.

“Hello? Oh, hey, Roy.”

Mike couldn’t hear anything Roy was saying on the other end of the line, but he made sure to stay quiet himself.

“Yeah, I did. It was good. They said I was doing it all wrong with icing the ankle and knee, though. But anyhow—yeah, things are good.”

Johnny listened for a few seconds.

“Oh—well, that’s really nice of you guys to ask, but I just put dinner in the oven.”

Another pause. 

“Meatloaf. Joanne took me shopping day before yesterday, you know, so I’m set for a while.”

Johnny grinned.

“Well, Roy, I didn’t answer the phone last night because I was _out_. Believe it or not, I’m not spending my entire convalescence moping around this place, ya know. Wouldn’t be healthy.”

Mike took the hand that was absently stroking his chest and started playing with it.

“Oh now Roy, are you sure you wanna know the answer to that?”

Apparently Roy was sure.

“Okay then, yes, I was _still_ out this morning when you called. Put two and two together, and sure enough, you’ll come up with four. And the rest is none of your beeswax, pal.”

Mike could hear Roy laughing and then talking again at the other end of the line.

“Changing the subject, huh? Yeah, we did. We went to the same beach you and I went to with the kids a couple weeks ago. Though it was a hell of a lot better without a freakin’ garbage bag on over a hot, sweaty, itchy cast.”

Johnny rolled his eyes at whatever Roy said.

“No, I wouldn’t do that. Geez, Roy. That’d be just plain rude. Unless there was one for him, too.”

Another pause, while Roy apparently apologized.

“Naw, that’s all right. Anyhow—thanks for checking up on me, and thanks for the dinner invite. Maybe another time, huh?”

Johnny squinted in thought and looked up into the corner of the room. 

“Uh, I’m not sure, actually—can I get back to you?”

Johnny smiled again.

“That’s a definite possibility, pal. If not a certainty. But like I said—I’ll get back to you. Say hi to Joanne and the kids, all right? Talk to you later.”

Johnny replaced the phone in its cradle.

“So what is it you wouldn’t do because it was rude, but that Roy thought you did?”

Johnny chuckled. “He knew you were picking me up yesterday morning to go to the beach, right, so he accused me of picking up some chick on the beach and leaving you in the dust.”

“Too bad you didn’t tell him what really happened,” Mike said, nibbling on Johnny’s fingers.

“He wanted to know if I had plans Friday night, or if I could have dinner with them. They’ve really been watching out for me.”

“You might have a date then,” Mike said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you do.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. You haven’t seen _Taxi Driver_ , have you?”

“Nope—I heard it was pretty intense, though.”

“That’s what I heard, too. Wanna go?”

“Course I do. Long as you hold my hand for the scary parts.”

“Balcony’s usually deserted.”

“Even better.” Johnny picked up the phone. “I’ll call Roy back.”

Mike kissed the knuckles of the hand he was still holding. “Okay.”

Johnny dialed the number with his right hand, while Mike nibbled the tip of the pinkie of his other hand.

“Oh, hi Roy. It’s just me, getting back to you, like I said I would. I checked my calendar and I actually do have something going on on Friday. But thanks for asking.”

Johnny involuntarily took in a deep breath when Mike suddenly sucked his pinkie into his mouth and swirled around it with his tongue.

“No, I’m fine—just thought I was gonna sneeze, for a second.” 

Johnny glared down at Mike, but couldn’t keep a straight face.

“Oh, that’d be great—sure. How ‘bout if I bring potato salad?”

Mike progressed to Johnny’s ring finger, giving it the same treatment the pinkie had just gotten.

“Okay—or if Stoker is going, I bet he could swing by and pick me up on the way. Uh, sorry, hang on a second—” Johnny put the receiver down and clamped his hand over the mouthpiece. “Will you cut that out?” he hissed, grinning to take the sting out of his words. 

Mike slurped noisily on the finger once more, then freed it.

“Sorry. But yeah—count me in for sure. And you’re talking to the rest of the guys tomorrow?”

Johnny gave Mike a warning look as Mike started toying with his hand again.

“Okay—sounds good. I guess just ask Stoker to give me a call if that works for him. I mean, if he’s going, and all. Have a safe shift tomorrow.”

Johnny nodded, as if the phone could transmit that information. “Yep. Okay—bye.”

Johnny replaced the receiver with a clatter, and immediately rubbed his knuckles on Mike’s head, noogie style.

“Oooow!” Mike howled, laughing at the same time.

“You’re a bad, bad boy, Mikey.”

“I am, I freely admit it. So what am I swinging by to pick you up for, if I’m not too busy?”

“Barbecue at the DeSotos’ on Saturday afternoon. He’s asking all you guys tomorrow.”

“Oh—sure,” Mike said. “That’s always a good time. What I’m wondering, though, is if you’re busy tonight.”

“Definitely. Very, very busy. But not till too late, though, because it’s a school night for you. Lights out at ten.”

“Yeah,” Mike sighed. “But you know what’s nice?”

“What?” Johnny said.

“You get it. You get that we can’t show up for a shift already half asleep.”

“Yeah, I get it all right,” Johnny said. 

Something ‘dinged’ in the kitchen. 

“Gotta turn the oven down. I’ll be right back,” Johnny said, helping Mike to sit up.

Johnny returned from the kitchen in short order. “I put the broccoli on, too; it’ll all be done at once.”

“Great. Hey, should I pop out real quick and get some ice cream or something for dessert?”

Johnny laughed and plopped himself down onto the couch next to a now-upright Stoker. “Mike, you _are_ dessert. Hmm, I have a can of Hershey’s in the cupboard, I think …”

“ _Now_ who’s the bad boy with the dirty mind?” Mike quickly rearranged himself so he was on his knees on the sofa, straddling Johnny. 

Johnny grabbed Mike by his waistband and pulled him in. “Hey, two’s company. And, ten minutes till dinner’s ready.”

“Ten minutes. Hmm, definitely not long enough for what I really had in mind. But to be honest, I probably won’t be able to get it up till after dinner anyhow.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t make out on the couch, though. And anyhow—what did you _really_ have in mind?”

“I’m kinda hoping that sometime between now and my next shift, I’ll get fucked so hard your mattress will beg for mercy. Or whatever surface happens to be handy.”

“Geez, Stoker, I wish you’d learn to be more direct.”

“I’ll try.”

“Um …”

“Uh-oh—what’s the matter?”

Johnny blushed. “I, uh, I’m not sure my leg’s gonna be up to the task. The rest of me is willing and able, believe me, but I wanna, you know, do justice to the situation.”

“I think we’ll work something out,” Mike said. “In fact, I have no doubts at all.”

Johnny looked at him skeptically. “You wanna fill me in, here?”

“Well, I think I did that once already this morning.”

“Man, once you start, you just don’t stop, do ya?”

“Nope.” 

“So what’s your plan for getting fucked?”

“You’ll see.”

“Do I get a hint?”

“I already gave you one.”

Johnny groaned. “Oh, man. What was the hint? Pleeeease!”

“That it won’t necessarily be your mattress that’s begging for mercy. You’re thinking horizontal. Think vertical.”

“Oh.” Johnny brightened. “Oh! Yeah, that’ll work. In the mean time, let’s just lay around on the couch, like we said we were gonna. ‘Cause you’re right—ten minutes ain’t gonna do it. C’mere.”

“I think I’m already ‘here,’ since I’m pretty much sitting on you.”

“You know what I mean.”

Johnny reached a hand around Mike’s neck, and pulled his face down closer. Mike dug his knees into the couch on either side of Johnny, and applied himself to their task. “Sure as hell hope you have a timer set, Gage, because—”

The phone rang again, and they both jumped.

“I’m gonna just ignore that,” Johnny said.

But he couldn’t. It just kept ringing, and ringing. 

Johnny sighed, and reached around Mike to the end table to pick the phone up.

“Hello?”

This time Mike was close enough he could hear every word.

“ _Wow, I was just about to give up on ya, Gage._ ”

“Well maybe you shoulda, Chet. What’s up?”

“ _Oh, me and Marco are just gonna go to Kilpatrick’s for a burger and a beer. You up for it?_ ”

“Thanks, man, but I’m busy, actually.”

“ _Huh—Roy just said that’s what you told him, too._ ”

Johnny scowled at the phone. “Well, if Roy _told_ you I’m busy, why’d ya even call?”

“ _Oh—well, he thought that either maybe you didn’t really want to hang out with his whole family, but you were too polite to say so; or else you were so depressed you didn’t wanna do_ anything _; or that you have a chick over. I’m supposed to figure out which one, but be subtle about it._ ”

“You’re doing a miserable job so far,” Johnny said.

“ _Yeah, I figured I wouldn’t bother with the subtle part—it’s not really part of my shtick._ ”

“No shit.”

“ _So, which is it?_ ” Chet asked.

“None of the above,” Johnny said smugly. 

“ _Oh—so you’re_ about _to go out. Who’s the chick?_ ”

“Nope—not going anywhere. And there’s no chick. I just have things to do.” Johnny grinned as Mike nodded vociferously.

“ _Huh_ ,” Chet said. “ _Maybe you really_ are _depressed. In that case, you definitely need to get out. I’ll come by in like ten minutes, and—_ ”

“Kelly,” Johnny said, as Mike stood up and made a ‘just a second’ gesture, “I told you, I’m _busy_!”

Johnny watched as Mike went into the kitchen. He fiddled with some pots and pans, just enough to make some clanking noises.

“ _Heeeeeey_ ,” Chet said, “ _I hear someone. You_ do _have someone over!_ ”

“All right, Chet, I admit it. There _is_ someone here. Now I really gotta go, okay? Say hi to Marco, will ya?”

“ _Sure, Gagey-baby. You have a great evening, all right?_ ”

“I plan on it. Talk to you later.”

Johnny hung up the phone. “Geez.”

“I’m gonna turn this broccoli off as long as I’m in here,” Mike said, “unless you want it to be mush.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m not particular.”

“I am,” Mike said. “No mushy vegetables.”

Mike got out plates and silverware, and set the table. “You got napkins?”

“Uh, paper. Cabinet over the fridge.”

“You want milk, or water?”

“I guess milk. Lemme do something, though,” Johnny said, appearing in the kitchen.

“You can sit down, is what you can do. Do you see how you’re walking?” Mike said as he drained the broccoli over the sink and set it on the table.

“Yeah. All right. I guess my leg is kinda tired.” Johnny said as he sat down at the table.

The timer rang, and Mike took the meatloaf out of the oven and set it down next to the broccoli. He popped the rolls out of their foil pan, and put them in a bowl. He looked in the fridge. “Butter?”

“Deli drawer.”

“Even though there’s a compartment in your fridge that says ‘butter?’”

“If it goes on bread, it goes in the deli drawer.”

Johnny served up the meatloaf, and they tucked in. 

“Familiar,” Mike said. 

“Yeah, well, I have my repertoire of things I make that other people will eat,” Johnny said.

“So, that means you make stuff that you don’t think other people would eat, but that you do?”

“Uh huh.”

“Like what?”

“Okay—like my dad’s chicken soup with peanut butter.”

Mike set his fork down. “Seriously?”

“It’s good. But I know if I ever served it at the station, I’d have a rebellion on my hands. But yeah, ‘seriously.’ I’ll make it for you sometime.”

“All right,” Mike said. “I’ll try anything once.”

“Anything?” Johnny said, eyebrows raised.

Mike looked Johnny in the eye as he chewed and swallowed. “Long as it isn’t obviously harmful, yup.”

“Hoo boy.”

Johnny found he actually had to stop eating for a moment as he digested the full meaning of Mike’s comment. 

“I wasn’t knocking your dinner, by the way,” Mike said. “It’s good.”

“I know. It’s just one of the three things I make at the station, is all you were saying.”

“Yep.”

“You know, I always wondered how you got to be such a good cook,” Johnny said around a bite of food.

“Well, my mom made all three of us learn to cook. She said no kid of hers was going to leave the house until she was satisfied we’d be able to fend for ourselves. I think she did more with me than with my brother, though. I guess she figured out pretty early on that there was never going to be a wife to cook for me.”

“Yeah? You actually discussed that stuff with your mom when you were a kid?”

Mike laughed. “No way. Are you kidding? But I did end up coming out to my parents when I was about, oh, twenty or so.”

“Just curious—you said your parents are really conservative, so how in the world did that come up?”

“Oh, it’s a great story. It was when I was telling them I wasn’t going back for a third year at UCLA; that I’d accepted a spot at the L.A. County Fire Academy. My dad pretty much threatened to disown me, whatever that even means, and so I figured as long as we were headed down that road, I might as well tell them the rest of the story.”

“Huh. Bet that didn’t go so well.”

“Nope. My father and I didn’t speak for over a year after that. My mom showed up at my apartment one day, about a week later, and told me she’d always kind of known. And that she wasn’t disowning me, but that my dad didn’t want to talk to me quite yet.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Mike set his silverware across his plate. “Your folks ever know anything about your preferences?”

Johnny shook his head. “My mom—she died when I was sixteen. Back when I was still trying to figure myself out. And my dad—we don’t talk about that sort of thing much. In high school, I went out with girls plenty, but always kind of … you know. Wondered.”

“Uh huh. So, you don’t have to answer this, but what was the first time you were with a guy? I mean, how’d it happen?”

Johnny laughed. “I was eighteen. On a camping trip the summer after graduating, with friends, and friends of friends. All guys. We hooked up with another group, all college guys. A fair amount of alcohol was involved. And one of the guys from the other group made a pass at me, and I thought, what the hell, nobody’ll ever find out, and I’ll never see him again, so we disappeared into the woods, all furtive-like, and had our way with each other. It was clumsy, and amateurish, but I was hooked. And it turned out I _did_ see him again—quite a few times—after that trip. But then I went to the academy, and had to put all that stuff on the back burner. I realized I’d need to get out of town for anything like that in the future.”

Mike nodded. “Safer that way—you’re less likely to run into someone from the department.”

“So how about you?” Johnny asked.

“I never was interested in girls. I knew early on that wasn’t ‘normal,’ so I kept quiet about it. I went on dates, but just for show. The tricky thing was, the girls really liked me for some reason—maybe some of them somehow knew I was ‘safe.’ But I did have a couple of pretty embarrassing experiences, too, that maybe I’ll spill my guts about some other time. Anyhow—I knew I was attracted to men, but I didn’t have the vaguest idea about what to do about it. Then when I was almost eighteen, the older brother of a friend of mine helped me figure all _that_ out.”

“Sexy,” Johnny said, grinning. 

“Holy shit, yes. Not clumsy, and not amateurish. He was twenty three, and had spent some quality time with an older guy, and I was really fucking lucky. About nine months later, he moved to Chicago—to go to medical school—right when I went to college, so that was that.”

“He a rich doctor, now?”

Mike laughed. “Not any more. He got married, and I guess that didn’t work out so well, for predictable reasons. And then he did it again, and ditto. So there’s lots of alimony going out the door.”

“You still in touch?”

“Not really. Christmas cards, and such. We had a hot weekend-long fling about five years ago, when he was out here for his brother’s wedding. Between wives—he’d just divorced number one, and was starting to see number two. I tried to talk him out of number two, but he insisted it was the right thing for him to do. After that, I was with Larry, and that was that.”

Johnny finished his glass of milk.

“We oughta clean up the kitchen,” Mike said. 

“Nah—I’ll just throw the leftovers in the fridge. The mess will still be there tomorrow at 7:45, but you won’t.”

“How about a compromise.”

“Okay—what’s your suggestion?”

“Ten minutes. We’ll clean up for ten minutes, no more. It won’t be perfect, but we won’t be making coffee in meatloaf mess in the morning. Plus it might be fun.”

Johnny shook his head. “You gotta be the only guy in the world where doing dishes is foreplay.”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “Remember that when you get back to work and one of us is on KP at the station.”

“Ooooh, that’ll be weird.” 

Mike took the dishes into the kitchen and piled them into the sink. Johnny wrapped up the remaining meatloaf and put it in the fridge, while Mike quickly started washing the dishes. Johnny came up behind him with a dish towel.

“Counterproposal,” Johnny said, looping the towel around Mike’s waist, and pulling Mike backwards towards him. “Five minutes,” he said, right into Mike’s ear. He rubbed his body back and forth across Mike’s rear. He was rewarded by Mike pushing back towards him.

The water gurgled as Mike pulled the plug in the sink. 

“Who am I fucking kidding,” Mike said. “I can’t wait five minutes.”

“Me neither,” Johnny said. 

Mike spun in Johnny’s light grasp, and wiped his hands on the towel Johnny was holding. He took the towel from Johnny and set it on the counter.

Johnny untucked Mike’s shirt, and began on the buttons. He didn’t waste any time, and was soon pushing the shirt off of Mike’s broad shoulders, and pulling the t-shirt over his head. 

“Mmm, mmm; tasty,” Johnny said, dropping kisses down Mike’s neck to his chest, and laving a nipple. “Hold still.”

“Oh, man,” Mike groaned, half laughing at the same time.

“What,” Johnny said, switching to the other side.

“I just had the hottest thought when you said that.”

“Hmm?”

“Some other time, when your leg is completely better, say that to me again—tell me to hold still—and I’ll say ‘make me,’ and you’ll wrestle me into submission, and damn, that’ll be hot.”

Johnny chuckled around the anatomy he was working on, and his hands worked on Mike’s belt and jeans, which didn’t pose much of a challenge, especially because his target was extremely cooperative.

But his target was also feeling that things were a bit unbalanced, as he was completely naked in Johnny’s kitchen, no less, while Johnny was still completely clothed. Mike spun Johnny around, just firmly enough to get his point across, and backed him into the hallway, up against the wall, and started stripping him, efficiently but not hurriedly. Once he’d completely unclothed Johnny, they pressed their bodies together, and Mike captured Johnny’s mouth for a deep but leisurely kiss. 

Johnny reached around to Mike’s ass, and started stroking and kneading. He pulled away from Mike’s kiss briefly.

“Gonna be pretty tough for me to do you the way you wanna be done if I’m pinned to the wall, here.”

Mike immediately leaned back, taking his weight off Johnny. “Better let you up, then, because I’m bound and determined.”

“I know it.” Johnny grinned back at Mike, and gave him a gentle shove towards the bedroom door. “Go on, then. And yes, I have a plan for you that I think you’re gonna like pretty well. Mm hmm, man of a thousand plans; yep, that’s me.”

Mike entered the bedroom, and Johnny trailed slightly behind him. Once they were in the bedroom, Johnny stalked over to a waist-high dresser with a mirror mounted on the wall above it, and swept his arm across the top, sending piles of various things onto the floor. He threw all the pillows from the bed to the top of the piece of furniture, and tossed the lube next to the pile to save a step later.

“I hope that thing is stronger than it looks,” Mike said, eyeing the dresser skeptically. 

“We’re about to find out,” Johnny said, moving Mike towards the furniture in question. They stood there, in front of the mirror, Johnny slightly behind Mike, just looking for a moment. Johnny reached his hands around in front of Mike and stroked his open palms slowly up and down his chest, then his belly, and finally palmed his cock, which twitched at his touch.

“Look at you,” Johnny said, as he swirled his thumb through the wetness exuding from the slit. “Just … yum.”

Mike stared, enthralled, at the two of them in the mirror. He took Johnny’s other hand, and brought it to his lips. He nibbled the knuckles, and tips of the fingers, and finally put the index and middle fingers in his mouth and swirled his tongue around and around them, wetting them thoroughly. Eyes locked with Johnny’s in the mirror, he let the hand go, and leaned his upper body forwards onto the stack of pillows.

Johnny let his slick fingers slide down the cleft of Mike’s ass, while keeping his other hand on Mike’s dick. Their eyes stayed together in the mirror, and as Johnny began to circle Mike’s hole with one finger, Mike’s eyes drifted shut for just a second, and a small sound escaped his throat.

Johnny’s finger circled and teased, while his other hand stayed busy as well. His still-slick finger made its way inside, and Mike immediately caught his lower lip in his teeth, which Johnny recognized as a good sign. He found himself mesmerized by Mike’s reactions. 

He grabbed the lube and added a second finger. He searched for the spot he was looking for, and knew he’d found it when Mike gasped and his muscles clenched briefly.

“ _Fuck,_ do that again … yeah … c’mon babe, I don’t need much prep, just do me now!”

Johnny ignored Mike’s pleas, knowing Mike wasn’t really ready yet. He added a third finger, pulling and stretching gently. His fingers scissored, spread, thrust in and out, going for that sweet spot each time. Soon, Mike pushed back against him, rocking his hips back and forth.

“ _Now_ , Johnny!”

Johnny took Mike at his word this time, and slicked his cock up. He paused with the head at Mike’s entrance, and switched his slick hand to Mike’s dick. Mike groaned and rocked his hips, not feeling sure which direction was better, liking them both.

As Johnny slowly pushed in, and watched Mike’s eyes and face in the mirror, and listened to Mike’s sounds and words of pleasure, Johnny suddenly understood that what he had with Mike was _different_. Sure, the sexual thrill was enticing, exciting, and drove him on. Absolutely, the activities they were engaged in were intensely pleasureful. But more than anything, more than the physical craving for the heat and rush of the powerful orgasm he knew would knock him off his none-too-steady feet, he wanted Mike to feel good, to feel cared for, to feel … 

And that was it. Once he understood it, he had to say it. He was still, for a moment, waiting for Mike to adjust to him. He took his hand away from Mike’s cock, and slid both hands up his body, to his shoulder, down his folded arm that was bracing him on top of the pillows. He stretched the length of his upper body along Mike’s back, leaving his chin near Mike’s shoulder. He caught Mike’s hand, and twined their fingers together. Mike’s eyes met his in the mirror again, half lustfully wrecked, half questioning.

Johnny mustered his courage, and found it wasn’t difficult at all. With his lips just barely ghosting over Mike’s shoulder, he half-whispered what he found he wanted to say.

“Love you, babe. I love this; I love _you._ ”

Mike’s eyes closed, and he squeezed Johnny’s hand.

“Johnny … oh god, me too.” He opened his eyes again, and they were shining. “Me too.” 

Johnny slid his hands back down the way they’d come, and recaptured Mike’s hard, hot dick, swiping his thumb across the sensitive crown, through the precome pearling up on the slit. He let his free hand travel lightly up and down Mike’s back, and then settle on his hip. 

Johnny pulled himself back, slowly, and pushed back in, just as slowly, at an angle he knew would hit just the right spot. He could tell from Mike’s sounds that he was right. He did it again, still slowly, and this time he couldn’t help but groan along with Mike. And again, and again, and they voiced their pleasure together. 

Their rhythm built, and they became lost in it, lost in each other. The dresser creaked, and Mike braced himself harder. They both lost the capacity for words, but they didn’t need them. 

Johnny felt Mike’s body tensing up under him, so he sped the movement of his hand and adjusted his angle ever so slightly, and that was it for Mike. He screamed into the pillows stacked on the dresser, and spurted semen, thin after four previous rounds of sex in less than twenty-four hours. Johnny followed him immediately, and collapsed with his chest on Mike’s back, his arm wrapped around Mike’s torso.

The dresser creaked alarmingly, and with his last ounce of stamina, Johnny pulled Mike up and shuffled the two of them the two yards to the bed. They both collapsed sideways across the mattress, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat. Johnny rolled so his left arm and leg crossed Mike’s body, and Mike turned towards him, still panting, his breaths cooling the sweat on Johnny’s neck.

“Holy shit, Johnny. Just—fuck. That was … glorious.”

“I like that word,” Johnny said. “C’mere.” He kissed Mike long and slow, and they tangled their limbs together. 

“And I think your dresser actually _is_ begging for mercy,” Mike said, looking over at the listing bureau.

“Nothin’ a couple angle brackets won’t fix,” Johnny said lazily.

“I’ll pick some up on my way back here tomorrow,” Mike said.

They lay there, twined together, not speaking, for several minutes before Johnny addressed the elephant in the room.

“I meant it,” he said.

Mike didn’t have to ask what he meant. “I know. Me too.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is good.”

A few more minutes passed, and their eyelids started drooping as they lounged on the bed.

“Stay right there,” Johnny said, reluctant hauling himself out of bed. He returned in a moment with a warm, damp cloth, and they cleaned themselves up. He reclaimed the pillows from the dresser, and tossed them onto the head of the bed. 

“’s only like eight thirty, right?” Mike said sleepily.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. I’m dead tired, and so are you, and if we wake up real early, I have a feeling it’ll be okay.”

“Uh huh.”

**TBC**


	10. Breakfast At Johnny's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike really doesn't want to go to work.

**Breakfast at Johnny’s**

They did wake up early, but well rested, and as Johnny had predicted, it was okay. It was more than okay. They made love, taking turns pleasuring each other, and took a long shower. Johnny made eggs and bacon while Mike dressed. 

“So I have an appointment with the doc tomorrow morning, right after our shift lets out,” Mike said.

“Oh. You wanna come over, after?”

“Yeah—maybe by ten or so? But, uh—well, the last few days are definitely gonna come up.”

Johnny shrugged. “That’s okay. Like I said. You trust him, I trust you. You know what he’s gonna say, though.”

“What?”

“That we shouldn’t work together.”

Mikes sipped his coffee. The thought had certainly occurred to him over the past couple of days as well, but he wasn’t really ready to think about it very hard yet.

Johnny continued. “You wanna know what I think?”

“Of course I do.”

“I think that it’s gonna be at least three months before I’m back on duty anyhow. If I even make it back this time. I also think that if there had to be a combination of two guys on a shift who had something funny going on, either good or bad, engineer and paramedic is probably the least volatile combination. I don’t ride your rig; you don’t ride mine. We wouldn’t be paired up for anything. Neither one of us is under the other’s command. I don’t see anything too hard or weird about us working the same crew.”

Mike hesitated. Johnny noticed.

“But you do, though, don’tcha?” Johnny said.

Mike nodded. “Yeah. There’s the whole issue of watching you get sent into horrific situations. Probably every third shift you rescue guys have to do something completely crazy. I’m not sure how that’s gonna be for me. It’s already tough for me, standing there at the pump panel, watching you guys go into a burning building. And Pritchard knows it. We’ve been talking about that since the first session I had with him.”

Johnny nodded, slowly. “I, uh, guess I hadn’t thought of it from your perspective. You’re right, of course. And I’m not exactly known for, um, excessive caution.”

Mike didn’t have a good reply. They sipped their coffee. 

Johnny cleared his throat. “To be honest, though, I’m not really convinced I’m gonna make it back this time.”

Mike looked up sharply. “What? Yesterday you sounded so optimistic.”

“Yeah. I’m optimistic. I’m maybe even desperately optimistic. I’m just not _certain_. Right now I can’t take a single normal step. Not _one_. And my whole leg feels like it’s made out of glass, though I know that’s not true. I’ve never doubted my physical ability before—not in general. Sure, everyone has their moments when they’re saying to themselves, ‘how the hell am I gonna do this?’ But right now, I’m sayin’ that to myself for things like driving. Vacuuming. Ordinary things like that, that sixty-year-old ladies can do. So work stuff?” Johnny shook his head. “Not feeling very realistic, right now.”

“Do you want to go back?” Mike asked. “I mean, you do, don’t you?”

Johnny looked away briefly. “I think a better question is, what the hell would I do with myself if I _couldn’t_ go back? And the answer is, I can’t even think about it until I’ve tried. So I’m gonna try.”

“I’ll help you, however I can. Even if it means that one of us ends up having to take a transfer in the long run.”

“Thanks.”

“I guess I’ll just tell Bill what we talked about just now. That’s really all he can expect at this point. He might have some good advice, too.”

Johnny laughed. “Yeah, from all the other times that he’s dealt with a fireman wondering how he can work with his boyfriend on the same shift.”

“Okay, so maybe not specific advice for experience with this specific situation. But you never know. I mean, sex between crew-mates has _definitely_ happened before. I mean, we’re in the perfect kind of setting for something to happen that nobody intended to happen. Men only, close quarters twenty-four hours a day, emotions running high from life and death situations, everyone protective of each other … a recipe for intense, fumbling sexual escapades, say, behind a dumpster at three a.m.”

Johnny’s eyebrows climbed scalpwards. “Speaking from experience?”

Mike shook his head. “Observation.”

“Oooh. That sounds like a story.”

“Yup. Accidentally saw two guys behind the dumpster in the wee hours, in my third year on the job, when I was subbing at a station that shall remain anonymous to protect the, uh, well, I guess I can’t say the ‘innocent,’ so I’ll go with ‘participants.’ I couldn’t sleep, and went out to the parking lot for air, and there was pretty much no mistaking what was going on. They never had a clue I was there. The way they avoided each other the next morning—that clued me in that it was kind of an accident.”

“But that’s not what we’re doing, though. We’re doing everything we’re doing on purpose. It’s intentional,” Johnny said, “which is different. We’re not talking about two guys who didn’t mean to do what they did, and regret it, but still have to deal with it.”

“No. Of course not,” Mike said. “What we’re doing … it’s completely different from that. I’m just saying it’s probably not the first time that Pritchard will have dealt with people who are working together who’ve had sex.”

“ _Hot_ sex,” Johnny said. “Incredible, steamy, delicious, fantastic gettin’-me-hard- _again-_ just- _thinkin_ ’-about-it sex. Six, or maybe five, or maybe seven depending on how you count it—times since the night before last. If I’m counting right, that is.”

Mike grinned. “Your math is sound. And you know I’d be happy to increase whatever the number is by one, but I have to leave in three minutes.”

“You know what?” Johnny said.

“What?”

“It ain’t the sex that’s the problem. You and I have both had sex with people where we knew it was just a one-nighter, or a fling, or whatever you wanna call it. But that’s not what this is. And _that’s_ the problem, in terms of working together.” Johnny said, punctuating his remarks with a waving piece of toast. “Not just the spectacular sex.”

“So it is,” Mike said. “So it is.”

“So what I say, is, let’s not try to cross that bridge until we get there. Which may be in a couple months, or longer, or maybe never. We just don’t know. Or maybe you will have had it with me in a couple weeks, or vice versa, and that’ll give us a whole new set of problems.”

“Johnny? That’s not how I’m seeing this play out, from my end. Just so you know.”

“Me neither,” said Johnny. “Crazy as it sounds, me neither.”

“On that note,” Mike said, standing up and taking his dishes to the kitchen, “I better go brush my teeth and get out of here. Not that I _want_ to; I’d much rather go straight back to your bedroom, right past your poor, battered dresser, and get started on round seven. Or whatever it is.” 

“Well, then, we’ll just hafta save that for tomorrow, won’t we.”

Mike brushed his teeth while Johnny washed up the dishes. Mike finished his task just as Johnny did, and they met in the hallway. Johnny pulled Mike in by the waistband of his jeans, and kissed him.

“Mm, minty fresh.”

“I really gotta go now,” Mike said.

“Yeah. I know you do.” Johnny walked him to the door.

Mike put on his shoes, and set his bag near the door. 

Somehow, they both started talking at the same time.

“I just want to say—”

“Mike, I hafta tell you—”

They laughed, and Johnny took both of Mike’s hands. 

“You first,” Johnny said. “‘Cause you know how I like to get the last word in.”

“Okay. Here I go again with the girlie stuff, but I don’t give a shit. I just want to say, these last two days have been really terrific. In every way. And I’m gonna miss you like hell for the next twenty-four hours.” He kissed Johnny gently on the lips. “Your turn.”

“Pretty much the same thing. I guess what I was gonna say was, I didn’t really know what the hell I was doing when I asked you out. But I’m glad I did it. And I’ll also miss you, and you better take care of yourself, because it’ll be really hard for me to kick your ass with only one leg I can stand on.”

Mike laughed, and let himself be pulled in for another kiss.

“Stay safe, all right?” Johnny said, as Mike turned to the door.

“I will. I’ll be here as soon as I can tomorrow morning after my appointment.”

“Good.”

They kissed each other one more time, until Mike finally pulled away, groaning. “All right, okay, I’m really going now. See you tomorrow. Love you,” he said almost timidly, not sure if the sentiment would be repeated outside the heat of the moment, but needing to say it nonetheless.

Johnny pulled Mike back in for one more kiss, more ferocious than the previous one. “Love you too. Bye.”

The door closed, and somehow, Johnny’s apartment seemed far emptier than it ever had before.

**TBC**


	11. Mind on the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike's a little bit distracted at work.

**Mind on the Job**

Mike arrived at Station 51 with only five minutes to spare before roll call. He hastily changed into his blues, and skidded into the apparatus bay under Hank Stanley’s raised eyebrows. Everyone else on the shift was already lined up between the engine and the squad.

“Everything okay there, pal?”

“Never better, Cap,” Mike said, attempting to be casual, but succeeding only in evoking a snicker from someone else in the line.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you arrive less than fifteen minutes early,” Cap said.

“Well, I made it on time, right?” 

“Yes, you did.” Cap looked at Mike oddly, and shook his head. “Anyhow, gentlemen: all are present and accounted for. Today we’ll do a pre-plan and preliminary inspection at the new apartment building going up at the intersection of Madison and Harding. DeSoto, Phillips, C-shift had a string of back-to-back runs this morning, so you’ll definitely need to resupply at Rampart before you do anything. So: chores, and then the pre-plan for the engine company, and the squad meets us there after resupply. Any questions?”

Four men shook their heads.

“Stoker?”

Mike’s eyes suddenly focused on the tall figure in front of him. “Huh?”

Chet nudged Marco and tittered.

“Did you hear _anything_ I just said?”

“Uh, no,” Mike said, looking at the floor.

“Never mind. Chet can fill you in while the two of you handle latrines and dorms this morning. Marco, you’re chef today. DeSoto and Phillips, inventory and resupply the squad. Hop to it, men.”

Everyone got busy with their assigned tasks. Mike didn’t protest when Chet handed him the toilet brush; he just got busy with the task while Chet cleaned the sink area. Mike didn’t mind the mundane task; his mind really wasn’t able to focus on anything and it was a relief to have something to do that didn’t require a lot of attention. He thought about the last two days, and everything that had happened, everything he and Johnny had said and done. He tried to listen to Chet’s constant stream of words, because Chet was supposed to fill him in on what Cap had said, but he just couldn’t.

“… and we have to test the standpipe system.”

“Uh huh …” Mike replied, not thinking about standpipes in the slightest.

Chet stopped what he was doing and looked at Stoker. “Yeah. I was thinking you should charge the system to about, say, ten thousand psi. With pineapple juice. How does that sound, for starters?”

“Uh huh.”

“Stoker!”

“Huh?”

“Are you even listening at all?” Chet asked.

“What? Uh … standpipes, right? See, I’m listening. ”

“Sure you are. You just agreed when I said you oughta charge the system to ten thousand psi, with pineapple juice.”

Mike blushed. “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“And you’re turning red!” Chet rubbed his hands together in glee. “All right, Stoker—spill it!”

“Seriously?” Mike said, coming back to the here and now. “You think I’m gonna suddenly give you the details of my personal life, just because I wasn’t paying attention to you?”

“Yep.”

“Nope.” Mike shook his head.

“Aw, c’mon, man! You’ve been on cloud nine all morning, and you had this goofy grin on your mug while you were cleaning the _toilet_ , for cryin’ out loud. And, I might add, you have a tremendous hickey on your neck.”

Mike stood up and looked in the mirror. He didn’t see anything. He glared back at Chet.

“Gotcha!” Chet said. “I made you look! See, now, if you hadn’t just had a hot night, you wouldn’t have looked, now would you have?”

Mike didn’t reply. He just went back to his task, which was more pleasant and less threatening than dealing with Chet.

“Man, between you and Gage, I have some serious detective work to do! _Serious_ work.”

Mike froze. How the hell had Chet figured out already that he and Johnny—oh. He relaxed again as he realized Chet just meant he had caught Johnny in a similar situation the night before. He laughed out loud as he realized how ridiculous the whole situation was.

Chet poked his head in the bathroom stall, where Stoker was just finishing cleaning the toilet bowl. “Are the fumes getting to you or something?”

“Sure, Kelly. That’s it.” Mike dropped the toilet brush back in its holder, and got out the spray bottle of shower cleaner.

~!~!~!~ 

“Okay, boys. Final building inspection isn’t done yet on this structure, so make a note of anything that seems off. We’re here to do a pre-plan, and to test the standpipes. Stoker, you gonna be with us, pal? Unlike at roll call?”

“Sure, Cap. I’ll charge it up to 150 psi,” Mike said, looking pointedly at Chet, “just like always. And someone can check all the valves inside the building. Then I’ll drain it all out again.”

“Great,” said Cap. “And I was hoping you were planning on using water. It’s more convenient, and a lot less messy, than the pineapple juice you agreed to earlier. Glad to hear you’re back with us.”

Mike shot Chet an evil glare as he and Marco tittered.

“Lopez, grab a radio and you check the valves after Mike charges the system. Kelly, you’re with me. You start at the top and work your way down, while I work my way up, and we’ll check to see that the office spaces match the floor plans we have. Make a note of anything you find that doesn’t add up. It should just be unfinished spaces at this point. Oh, and test the fire department controls on the elevator while you’re on your way up there. Everyone clear?”

“Yessir,” everyone replied.

Mike opened the pump-ops compartment on the engine, and hauled out the cheater length of supply line he used when he was right next to a hydrant. Nobody loved loading hundreds of feet of supply line back onto the hosebed, so in a situation like this he made sure it didn’t have to happen. He connected up to the hydrant, and then ran another length of supply line—which he did have to pull off the top of the engine—to the standpipe connection at the side of the building. He grabbed another radio from the cab, and raised Marco.

“Lopez, from Engine 51.”

“ _Lopez. I’m on the ground floor, ready to test the valve. Charge the system any time_.”

“Charging now.” Mike set the pump discharge pressure to 150 psi, and hoped it would just stay where he put it.

“ _Engine 51 from Lopez, first floor looks good. Moving up to two._ ”

“Copy.”

Mike checked his gauges. The pressure had dropped a bit—not enough to necessarily indicate a problem, but something to keep an eye on. He throttled up the engine a little more to increase the discharge pressure.

“ _Engine 51 from Lopez. Second floor looks sound. Moving up to three._ ”

“Copy. The pressure’s not holding steady, so keep your eyes open.” Mike checked his gauge again, and frowned. “51 to Lopez, I’m shutting it down. We’re definitely losing water somewhere.” He throttled the engine down.

“ _Engine 51 from Stanley. What’s going on, Stoker?_ ”

“Unclear. The system’s not holding pressure. I’m gonna help Marco find the problem.”

“ _Copy_ ,” Cap replied. 

“ _Stanley from Kelly. I have the problem up here on the fifth floor. There’s a faulty sprinkler head that gushed all over the place. Looks like it’s a good thing we inspected this system before they did any of the finishing work, ‘cause it’s a mess._ ”

“ _Copy_ ,” Cap said. “ _Looks like we’ll be back here testing the standpipe system again. Mike, you go ahead and pack up down there, and then meet up with me when you’re done. DeSoto and Phillips should be here any time; they can help you load hose._ ”

“Ten-four, Cap,” Mike said. He disconnected everything and laid all the hoses out in straight lines. He walked from one end of each to the other with the hose sliding over the shoulder of his coat, to drain the water out of each section. Just as he finished draining, the squad pulled up.

“Done already?” Roy said, as he got out of the squad.

“For now. Sprinkler system wasn’t holding pressure. Turned out to be a bad sprinkler head on the fifth floor. You guys are supposed to help me load up, and then we’ll join up with Cap.”

“Sure thing,” Roy said.

“Phillips, you wanna pull the other ends of those couplings over here so we’re not dragging them across the pavement?” Mike said.

“Sure.” Phillips meandered off to the far end of the 100-foot lengths of hose.

“He doing any better?” Mike asked Roy in low tones.

“Yeah, you know what? He actually is,” Roy said. “I’m starting to feel like by the time Gage is back, Phillips will be ready to roll. I mean, I’ll recommend they partner him with someone seasoned, but he won’t be a disaster—not like he was when he first walked in the door three months ago.”

“That’s good,” Mike said, climbing up to the top of the engine.

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong—it’s not always a cakewalk dealing with Gage, and his crazy ideas, and his rants, but as for getting the job done, he’s tops.”

“I know it. I bet he gives you a run for your money, though, in the squad on the way back from runs,” Mike said, smiling while his back was to Roy.

“Oh, believe me—he doesn’t even have to be sitting next to me in the squad to make my eyes roll. Like for instance, just yesterday evening—” 

“Here’s the couplings,” Phillips said.

“Thanks, Rick. Roy and I’ll finish loading up here; you go on in and find Cap,” Mike said. He didn’t say anything back to Roy, hoping that Phillips’s interruption would put an end to whatever Roy was going to tell Mike about the phone conversation that Roy didn’t know Mike had heard one end of.

No such luck. “Just yesterday evening,” Roy continued, as he passed hose up to Mike, “all I did was mention that I tried calling him the night before and that morning, and he started going on and on about how he’d been out, and was _still_ out in the morning, as if I couldn’t figure out what that meant.” Roy shook his head. “You took him to the beach the day before—he didn’t pick up a girl there, did he?”

Mike was trying hard not to laugh. He’d heard Johnny’s end of that conversation, and knew perfectly well that Johnny had not been ‘going on and on.’

“Nope, no girls. I think I probably would’ve noticed that.”

“And you took him back to his place yourself, right?”

“Yeah, Roy. I did. And we didn’t have any girls with us, all right?”

“Okay, okay. Anyhow—I’ll drop that topic now, since he’s not here to defend himself. On an unrelated note, Joanne and I are having a barbecue on Saturday afternoon, and we’re hoping all the guys from the shift can come. Do you think you can make it?”

“Sure, that’d be great. Thanks. And, I could swing by and pick Gage up on my way. If he’s not too busy with those imaginary girls, that is.”

“He said he was gonna come, and he even said I should ask you if you could pick him up. So that’s easy.”

“Yep. I’ll let him know.”

“Great,” Roy said. “Here’s the last coupling.”

Mike tried hard not to think of his and Johnny’s last coupling, as he made the last folds in the hose and climbed down from the top of the truck.

**TBC**


	12. Bad Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike finds he's going to need some of the coping skills he's been working on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for descriptions of deaths (including children) at a house fire.

**Bad Call**

The rest of the daytime portion of the shift was slow. There was one MVA, but no serious entrapment. A trash fire and an alarm panel activation didn’t help much to break up the boredom. After supper, when Mike was done helping Marco clean up, he just couldn’t resist temptation any longer. He stole into the dorm, picked up the phone extension there, and dialed Johnny’s number.

Johnny picked up on the second ring.

“ _Hello_?”

“Hi! Whatcha doin’?”

“ _Oh, hey. Just watching TV. Nothing interesting. Hang on a second._ ” There was the sound of uneven footsteps, and then the background chatter stopped. “ _There. How’s the shift?_ ”

“Boring. Especially compared to the last two days.”

Johnny laughed. “ _Need any cold showers?_ ”

“Almost. How about you?”

“ _I’m just tryin’ to hang on, here, till you show up here tomorrow morning. And depending on how your shift was, I’ll either put you to bed, or take you to bed._ ”

“Either way sounds pretty nice to me. Though I’m hoping for the second.”

“ _That’d be my vote, too. Ooh—and after that, whichever one it is, you wanna go to that beach up by your place? It’s not even supposed to be too beastly hot._ ”

“Yeah—sounds good. But after that, I have to get to the grocery store if we’re gonna have any dinner tomorrow. And then we have a date for a movie, right?”

“ _Yes, indeed we do._ ”

“I was thinking you oughta, you know, bring a change of clothes, and stuff. Just in case you feel like coming home with me after the movie. Which I hope you will.”

“ _I was hoping you’d say that. You bet I will. I’ll be ready._ ”

Mike glanced towards the door to make sure nobody would hear his next remark. “And it won’t even be weird when we show up together at Roy’s place on Saturday.”

“ _Well, it won’t_ look _weird. It might_ feel _weird, though. Good practice for working together again, though._ ”

“Hmm. Yeah, I guess so. Still, it’ll be plenty weird.”

Mike looked up as the door to the dorm area swung open and Roy walked in.

“Oops, sorry,” Roy said, and backed out into the locker room again.

“I oughta go,” Mike said. “Roy wants to use the phone, I think.”

“ _All right. See ya in the morning. Be safe_.”

“I will. Bye.”

“ _Bye_.”

Mike hung up the phone and sauntered out into the locker room, trying to look casual, and failing miserably. “All yours,” he said to Roy.

Roy nodded. He was pretty sure he’d just barged in on a conversation with whoever had made Stoker so uncharacteristically inattentive all day. If there were any way to push a button that would call the same number Mike had just dialed, Roy might just stoop that low, because the curiosity was driving him insane.

~!~!~!~ 

The tame shift screeched to a halt at 0248 when Station 51 and two others were toned out to a house fire. Nighttime house fires were the worst: everyone was asleep, in bedrooms, often on the second floor with no easy egress. Parents were cut off from their children, and vice versa. Chaos and fear were certainties, and death was always a possibility. 

Station 8 arrived first, and radioed in their scene size-up.

“L.A., Engine 8. We have a two-story residential structure, with the first floor fully involved, some extension to the second floor, and reports of four victims entrapped. Respond a second alarm assignment, including a second rescue squad, and two ambulances to our incident. Engine 51, approach from Munson Street and establish water supply at the corner of Munson and Keach.”

Mike pulled up to the hydrant, which was just where 8’s Captain had said it would be. Marco hopped out with the hydrant tools and pulled the supply line off the back of the engine, wrapped it around the hydrant, and signaled Mike to drive out, trailing supply line as he pulled up to the scene. He saw two of 8’s men at a ladder, one steadying the foot of the ladder while the other carried a woman down. Two other men were laddering another window—probably another bedroom. Mike hooked his end of the supply lines up to the engine, while Chet and Cap stretched a line to the front door. Mike signaled to Marco to open the hydrant, which Marco did, then returning to the scene. 

8’s Captain Burkey, the incident commander, had Roy and Rick Phillips pack up and go up the other ladder to search for the man and two children he knew were still inside.

Mike could tell from his position at the pump panel that it didn’t look good for the three people still inside. Most of the first floor was already fully involved, and thick, black smoke was pushing from every second story window. There were undoubtedly multiple extensions of the fire up into the second floor living areas, which, at this time of night, is where people would be. It didn’t look particularly survivable. And as soon as the second floor rooms started flashing over, it wouldn’t be survivable for thirty seconds, even for men in turnout gear and air packs.

Mike focused his mental energy on his job, which was to make sure that the two attack lines running off his engine had the water they needed to get a start on putting that fire out. Because if that didn’t happen, anyone inside the building—including his own crew—was dead for sure. 

Two minutes later, either Roy or Rick—Mike couldn’t tell who—was coming back down the ladder, with a child over his shoulders. Seconds later, the second of the two rescue men followed with another limp bundle. As the second man, who turned out to be Roy, set his victim down and took his mask off to start treating the victim, Burkey asked him something, and Roy shook his head and said something back to the captain.

 _It’s too hot to go back in_ , Mike imagined Roy saying. _And these kids don’t look good anyhow. Anybody still in there is dead._

Everyone at the scene looked up suddenly as the window Roy and Rick had just come out of flared with flames—the room had flashed over, showing that Roy’s judgment of the situation had been sound. Mike tried not to look as Roy and Rick worked on their two tiny victims, but he couldn’t help it. After several minutes, both the children were taken in on one of the ambulances, while the mother was taken in by 8’s paramedics on the other. He got a glimpse of Roy’s face as he climbed into the ambulance, and he had That Look. The flat, grim, if-I-stop-to-think-about-this-I’ll-quit-right-now look.

Mike continued with his job, as did everyone else. Three quarters of an hour later, the fire was out, and the crew went in to overhaul. Captain Burkey had Mike tear down Engine 51’s hoses, and join the overhaul crew.

Mike and Chet found the body of the one remaining victim, under a pile of debris from a partially collapsed ceiling in the second-floor hallway. Though Mike knew that the bent arms and clenched fists were just a physiological consequence of severe heat exposure, tightening the muscles and sinews, he couldn’t help thinking the man went down fighting.

The paramedics returned somberly. Two of their victims—the mother and one of the children, a girl—had been pronounced upon arrival. The third, the younger of the two children, had suffered severe smoke inhalation and burns, and had a poor prognosis.

By 0645, Station 51’s A-shift was back in quarters.

“Don’t worry about the hoses or equipment for now; we’re stood down till shift change. We’ll debrief at the table when everyone’s out of the shower. Until then, do whatever you need to do.”

Showers occurred in the order of seniority, with everyone keeping his turn as brief as possible. While Cap was in the shower, Mike started the coffee he knew they would all need. Chet sat on the floor with Henry the basset hound, who somehow knew Chet needed dog kisses. Roy sat at the table, motionless. Phillips and Marco both disappeared. 

Most of the men’s eyes were redder when they came out of the shower than they’d been when they went in. At 0730, everyone sat at the table in the day room.

“You guys all did everything perfectly. It was just too late already by the time anyone got there. We all know that. I also know every one of us is taking a big burden home with us today. So I’ll say what I always do: take care of yourselves. Let yourselves be taken care of, too. Allow yourselves to feel however you need to feel, and to think whatever you need to think. If anyone isn’t ready to go home when B-shift arrives, that’s okay too. Call me any time if you need to vent, and I mean that. Or, if you prefer, the Chaplain’s on call, too, and so is Dr. Pritchard, the counselor from the department.”

Cap paused and looked around the table. “Does anyone want to say anything?”

Roy nodded. “Cap is right—we were fast with everything we did, but by the time we got upstairs, it was so hot, and the smoke was so thick, that there was no way anyone could’ve come out of that okay. We did what we could. Sometimes, what we can do just isn’t enough. And that’s what happened tonight. That doesn’t make it any easier. But it’s what happened.”

There were nods all around, but nobody else wanted to say anything, so Cap dismissed everyone from the table. “Mike, a quick word in my office, if you will.”

Mike nodded. He had no clue what Cap wanted to talk about—he probably wouldn’t bring up Mike’s uncharacteristic behavior from the previous morning—not at a time like this. Unless … unless he was distracted at the scene and did something wrong. But he was pretty sure that hadn’t happened.

He followed Cap into the small office. 

“Have a seat,” Cap said.

Mike sat down.

“I wanted to talk to you separately because this is the first really awful incident we’ve had since you had that difficulty a few months ago.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah.”

“And I wanted to make sure of two things. First, did you feel like you were all right today? I’m not asking about this morning, even though you were clearly not yourself, because you looked pretty darned happy in addition to having the attention span of a flea. I’m asking about at the scene.”

“Yeah. I was okay. And the thing from this morning—that didn’t get in the way at the scene, either. Just in case you were wondering about that.”

“I wasn’t, but good.”

The phone on Cap’s desk rang, and he answered it.

“L.A. County Fire Department, Station 51, Captain Stanley speaking.”

Cap closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed heavily. 

“I see. It wasn’t unexpected, but sad nonetheless. Thank you for calling, Miss McCall.”

Mike knew what had happened even before Cap replaced the receiver. 

“The boy didn’t make it,” Cap said.

Mike just nodded, and they sat there silently for a few seconds.

“What’s the second thing?” Mike asked, after they’d finished their moment of silence.

“Chet’s going to Marco’s, so you’re the only one of us six who’s going home to an empty house today. I want to make sure you’re all right with that. Because if you’re not, mi casa es tu casa, any time, all right, pal?”

“Thanks, Cap. I have an appointment with Dr. Pritchard right after the shift anyhow, and then, actually, I have a d—an arrangement to, uh, meet someone for breakfast. Someone I can talk to. And I’ve got various plans for the day that will keep my head from getting bogged down in all this. But thanks for thinking about that.”

“You’re welcome. You can go, now.”

But Mike lingered for a moment. 

“Did you want to say something else, Mike?”

“Yeah, Cap. I just wanted to ask if _you’re_ okay. Nobody ever asks you that.”

Hank smiled at Mike. “Yeah. I’ll be all right. Thanks for asking.”

Mike went back out to the apparatus bay, and quieted his mind by hosing down the engine and polishing its chrome, until B-shift’s engineer took over that task.

“You guys had a real bad one, didn’t you,” Rollins said. 

“Yeah. Family of four. No survivors.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” Mike set his polishing cloth down on the bumper. “I’m out of here. Have a boring shift.”

“Thanks.”

**TBC**


	13. Pritchard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike has a lot to talk about with Dr. Pritchard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the point in the story where there start to be some references to this story's prequel, "Some Things To Work On." At http://archiveofourown.org/works/370776.

**Pritchard**

Mike drove to HQ, where Dr. Pritchard’s office was located, and parked in the lot. He just plain didn’t have the energy to go up two flights of stairs, so he took the elevator to the third floor and waited at the end of the hallway, as usual.

At 8:29, Bill Pritchard waved him in. “Come on in, Mike. It sounds like we might have a lot to talk about today.”

Mike knew that Pritchard and the department Chaplain were both notified whenever there was an incident that would be particularly traumatic for the responders involved, so he wasn’t surprised that Bill already knew the story.

Mike took his usual seat.

“This was your first fatal fire since we’ve been working together,” Pritchard said.

“Yeah. It was pretty bad. The rescue guys brought three of the victims out, but they were all pretty far gone by then. After they got third one out, I gather the environment was too hot even for someone in full PPE, because the incident commander didn’t send anyone back in, and shifted to a defensive strategy.”

“And that means there are no surviving victims expected to be found,” Bill finished for him.

“Right. Among other things.” Mike cleared his throat. “Chet Kelly and I found the final victim after the fire was controlled.”

“That’s hard.”

“Yeah. We knew he was in there somewhere, and that he was dead, but still, when you actually find them …” Mike shook his head.

“I know you’ve heard this before, Mike, but it’s normal to be disturbed and upset by things like what you saw today. And the day you’re unaffected by these things is the day to retire.”

“Yeah. I know. I’ve been in this business for almost ten years, and I think I’ll deal with this okay. I have before. And honestly, I think I’m better equipped to deal with it this time around, since working with you for the last couple of months. I mean, the image of the dead victim, on the floor, as we opened the door to the hallway—that’ll stick with me forever. But I don’t think it’ll get in the way, after the next couple of days.”

“All right,” Pritchard said. “I’ll trust your instincts on that. And I’ll trust that if this incident _does_ become more of a problem than you’re anticipating, you’ll let me know.”

Mike nodded. “I will. I was thinking, actually, maybe we should postpone the decrease to twice a month, though. Partly because of this, but also because of another thing I have going on.”

“That’s fine, Mike. That sounds like a good idea.”

“Okay.”

Mike sat there silently for a moment—longer than was usual for him in Dr. Pritchard’s office. But Pritchard didn’t push him. He waited patiently until Mike was ready to go on.

“I guess,” Mike said slowly, “I don’t really need to talk too much about this morning’s fire.”

“All right.”

“I mean, it was bad, but like I said, I think I’m gonna be able to deal with it okay.”

Once again, Mike was silent, and once again, Pritchard didn’t push him.

“So this other thing,” Mike began.

“Yes, you said you had something else going on.”

“Yeah. I don’t even really know where to start.”

“Start wherever you like.”

“All right. Uh, you know everyone on our shift has been trying to get Johnny out and about.”

“Yes. You’ve become quite good friends with him.”

“Yeah. Anyhow, I’d arranged with him to pick him up after shift on Tuesday morning, and we’d hit the beach. He got his cast off on Monday, which was a really big deal, but he still can’t drive, so we’re all still trying to get him out whenever we can. So, we spent all morning at the beach on Tuesday.”

Mike couldn’t quite figure out how to continue this line of discussion. It felt wrong, somehow, to tell any particularly intimate details to Bill, because they involved someone else. He sat silently, wrestling with himself about how to proceed. His physically and emotionally fatigued state made his mind feel like molasses, so he felt like he’d just gotten started thinking about what to say when Pritchard broke the silence.

“Mike, tell me if I’m wrong, but I’m wondering, now that the two of you aren’t working together, and that you’re spending a lot of time together, including talking about some pretty strong topics for both of you, if maybe you’re developing some feelings for John. Feelings that might be difficult for you.”

Mike couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing. 

“Or, perhaps I’m way off the mark,” Pritchard said. 

“Oh, boy. Bill, I’m just gonna tell you the story of that day, from start to finish, all right? Because it’s just so completely insane that I’m not even sure I really believe it. Except I do, because it’s true.”

“Go ahead,” Bill said. 

Mike gave Pritchard a synopsis of the ‘types’ discussion, the Gary incident, Johnny’s reaction to being inadvertently outed, and the reprise of the ‘types’ discussion, in which Mike made it clear that his type was exclusively male.

“So when you said before, that you thought he’d be open-minded enough to handle the truth about me—well, you were sure right.”

“I see,” Pritchard said. “And I can see why this two-way revelation might be difficult for you in some ways.”

Mike laughed again. “Doc, I haven’t even gotten _started_ yet. That’s just the opener. You see, he started threatening to try to set me up with guys he knew, and I pretty much told him to not even think about it. And then, we just did the rest of our morning like we were planning on anyhow. We went back to his place for lunch, and I helped him out with some stuff that he still has trouble with, like vacuuming, while he was making sandwiches in the kitchen. And then, when we were eating, he was quiet like he hardly ever is, right, unless something’s really bothering him, or unless he’s cooking up one of his crazy plans. So I told him he was making me nervous, being so quiet—like I should talk, right? And he admitted he was cooking up a plan, for how not to make a project out of fixing me up with someone.”

“And it’s the plan that’s the problem?” Bill asked.

“I, uh, wouldn’t say the plan was a problem. Because he _did_ end up fixing me up with someone.”

“Oh! Well, does it seem promising?”

“Bill, he fixed me up with _himself_. He asked me out. I said yes. We went out that night, and had a great time. He came home with me, and spent the night, and we spent the next day together, and stayed at his place that night. The night before last.”

Bill looked at Mike for a few seconds, not saying anything, knowing that Mike wasn’t really done talking yet.

“And I know what you’re thinking,” Mike continued. “You’re thinking we’re going to wreck our friendship and our working relationship by sleeping together. That we’re both just in it for the sex, or out of desperate loneliness, or some combination, whether we think we are or not. And I can’t prove that you’re wrong, even though he and I discussed those very problems, and agreed that it’s not just about sex, and that we both think it’s more than that. All right?”

Pritchard smiled and shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

Mike stopped trying to think up the rest of his tirade. “You weren’t?”

“No. But it sounds like the two of you were, which is good—I mean, it’s good to consider those sorts of things. But just as with the incident from last night, I trust _you_ to trust your instincts. And what are your instincts telling you right now?”

“That this is a really, really good thing, for both of us, but that it’s gonna be complicated as all hell.”

“What do you anticipate will be complicated?” Pritchard asked.

“Where should I even start? Our shiftmates are some of our closest friends, for one thing. And they can’t find out about this. Except for maybe Roy. I don’t see how he’s not going to know about this. He knows that Johnny’s bi, and they’re really close, so I’m okay with that.”

“All right. What other things will be complicated?”

Mike snorted. “Try when he gets back to work. That’ll be a while, so we have some time to puzzle that one out. You know: the part about how nobody can find out about this.”

“Good. Anything else?”

Mike nodded. “Well, relationships are always complicated. And, he’s not sure he’s willing to settle down with a man. That’s one thing I’m concerned about. But we’re not at that point yet.”

“No.”

Bill waited for Mike to take the next step in that line of discussion.

“But we might be, someday,” Mike said, seeing where Pritchard wanted him to go. “And that could be hard.”

“Yes, but you know, that happens in male-female relationships, too. That one party wants something different in the long run than the other party does.”

“I know. Nothing special about being gay, there. Except the extra added pressure of nobody being able to know.”

“Times might change, in that respect.”

“Maybe. Not anytime soon, though.”

“Probably not. But let’s move on. I’m wondering if there’s anything you want to talk about, with this new relationship, with respect to the things we’ve been working on lately.”

Mike nodded. “I feel like my level of anxiety about the whole thing is really good. I didn’t feel freaked out or nervous before the date, or during, or any time. There was one time that something started to sneak up on me, but I caught it in time and talked myself out of making a problem for myself.”

“Would you like to tell me what it was?”

Mike described his initial feeling of panic when he realized there was no way he and Johnny could avoid telling Roy about their relationship, and how he’d calmed himself down and thought rationally about the situation.

“Good. That’s exactly what I like to hear—that you’re able to recognize what’s happening in your mind, and do something about it before it gets out of hand. That’s very good.”

“Yeah. I was, I don’t know, proud of myself for that. It was a little thing, but also sort of a big thing.”

“I see what you mean. And you _should_ be proud of yourself. Anything else, along those lines? Things you’ve been working on, that were useful recently?”

Mike shook his head. “Honestly, I think I’ll deal okay with the thing from this morning. And …”

“Go on.”

“Well, it’s a really good feeling that I’ll be going straight from here to be with someone who will understand how awful that incident was, because he’s been there himself.”

“That wasn’t the case in your last relationship.”

Mike laughed, with an ugly tinge to the sound. “No way. I wasn’t even allowed to _talk_ about bad incidents. He couldn’t take it. In fact …” Mike frowned. “Huh. I guess the beginning of the end with Larry was really this one time about a year ago, when we had a fatal house fire. Not as bad as the one this morning, but bad enough. I went home after the shift, and I really needed to talk about it. And I really _wanted_ to talk about it with _him_ , you know? And I even _told_ him that, flat out. But all he could say was how he didn’t want to hear about that sort of thing, and how I was going to ruin our whole weekend together. As if I purposely set a house full of people on fire, so I could wreck the first weekend we’d had off together in six weeks.”

“You said that was the beginning of the end?”

“Yeah. I mean, things had been tense, but I thought we were trying to work on things a little bit. We’d planned that weekend as a time to just do things together. And I think I finally saw how I was never going to get from him something I really, really needed—some, I don’t know, support, or understanding, or hell, I would even have settled for acknowledgement, of the harder aspects of my job.”

“But today you get to go home to someone who will definitely understand,” Pritchard said.

“Yeah. I do. And even though there’s nothing good about that house fire, and I’m certainly not looking forward to telling him about it, and not looking forward to having it on my mind for the next while, I know he’ll _get_ it. And that’s what feels good. If that’s allowed.”

“Of course it’s allowed. You’re not saying that you’re happy the fire happened, so you’d have a chance to prove a connection with John. You’re saying that given that it did happen, you’re glad he’s going to be there for you. That’s perfectly reasonable, Mike.”

“I know. I just, uh, kind of wanted to hear you say that, is all.”

Pritchard smiled. “That’s okay, too.”

For the rest of the session, they talked about trust. Mike talked about how powerful it was for him that Johnny seemed be starting to trust him deeply. He shied away from talking too much about Johnny, and from giving intimate details, because he didn’t feel that would be all right, somehow. And Pritchard never once pressed him for any personal details about Johnny. By the end of the session, they were back to talking about dealing with the morning’s fire, and discussed some strategies to get through the next few days.

“We’re almost out of time,” Pritchard said. “Should we meet next week? And talk then about whether you’re ready to decrease to every other week?”

“That seems like a good idea. This doesn’t seem like a good time to start backing off. Tapering. Whatever.”

“I think you’re right. Your shifts next week are Sunday, Wednesday, and Saturday, so it looks like Thursday would be our best bet. I don’t have an opening until the afternoon, unfortunately. I also have a 12:30 opening on Friday, if that would work better.”

“Thursday afternoon is fine. Johnny’s place is only fifteen minutes from here. I’m betting I’ll be there Thursday morning, since his place is only five minutes from the station.”

“All right—one p.m. on Thursday, then. Do you need a card?”

Mike started to shake his head, and then changed his mind. “Yeah, probably a good idea. What with everything going on in my head right now.”

Pritchard handed him the generic “HQ Appointment” card he used with the time filled in. “See you then.”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot—for everything.”

“You’re welcome. And please, call if anything comes up between now and our next appointment.”

“I will.”

**TBC**


	14. Debriefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny really understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings again for description of deaths (including children) at a house fire.

**Debriefing**

Mike drove carefully, since he was dead on his feet, and pulled his truck into Johnny’s complex. He trudged up the stairs, and was immensely glad that he was going to be greeted by somebody who would really understand what had just happened.

He rang the doorbell, and Johnny opened the door, looking somber. He’d heard already, somehow.

“Mike, come on in. Roy’s here. Joanne’s not home, and he needed to talk to someone, so I said come on over.”

“Oh. Okay,” Mike said.

“I told him we were planning on having breakfast together after you took care of a couple things, so he knew you’d be coming by,” Johnny said carefully.

“All right. Uh, should I maybe just go? Let you guys talk?”

“No,” Johnny said. He shook his head, and silently mouthed ‘don’t go.’ But the look on his face said far more than the words he’d said, and almost as much as the words he wanted to say. “Honest—it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Mike said, understanding that Johnny really wanted him to stay. Which was good, because Mike honestly didn’t think he could handle going home alone.

“Lemme get you some coffee,” Johnny said.

“You sit down; I can get it.”

“All right. You know where everything is.”

Mike nodded to Roy on his way past the living room to the kitchen. 

“You doing okay, Mike?” Roy asked. He looked pale and haggard, and his eyes were red.

“As well as can be expected. I have some pretty tough images stuck in my head, from finding the dad. You okay?”

Roy shook his head. “Kids. You know?”

“Not like you do. It must be harder when you’re a parent.”

“I think so,” Roy said. “I think it is. Because … you can imagine. What it might be like for the parents. Which,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the sofa, “doesn’t really apply in this case.”

Mike poured his coffee and joined Johnny and Roy in the living room.

“It’s just … such a waste,” Roy said. 

“Yeah,” Mike said. 

Nobody said anything for a minute.

“That was the worst one I’ve been to in a couple years,” Mike said.

“Somehow it’s almost worse, when, you know, you think there might still be a chance,” Roy said. 

“It’s true. I mean, if you get there and the whole place is fully involved, you already know there’s no chance. And I don’t really know why that’s less hard,” Johnny said.

“I think maybe that’s because you know there’s nothing you could’ve done better, or differently, that might have changed the outcome. There’s not as much second guessing. Although sometimes I have to talk myself out of berating myself for not driving faster.”

“And when you actually touch the patients, when there’s still some small chance that you can save them …” Roy shook his head. “But I guess I already knew with the boy that he wasn’t gonna make it.”

The three of them sat there silently for a while with their coffee.

“I guess I’m pretty much talked out,” Roy said finally. “I’m gonna go home and sleep until I wake up.”

“Did anyone check on Phillips?” Mike asked.

“He was going home to his wife,” Roy said. 

“Yeah, but what do we _know_ about his wife? Will she get it? Or even be willing to listen?” Mike continued, thinking about Larry. Johnny looked at him, understanding he was speaking from experience.

Roy looked at him oddly. “She married a fireman. She’d better be willing to listen. I don’t know how I would handle life if Joanne weren’t,” Roy said. “Because that’s about the worst thing I can imagine in a wife—not being willing or able to deal with the hard parts of the job.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Mike said slowly. “Me too.”

“What I do when Jo is out and I’m sleeping after something like this, is I write a note and leave it on the bedroom door. Then she knows what the rest of the day is going to be like. And more often than not,” Roy said softly, “she’ll just crawl into bed with me.”

“You’re a lucky man, Roy,” Mike said.

“Yeah. I really am.” Roy stood up. “Thanks, Johnny. I mean it. Sorry to barge in on you, but …”

“Any time, Roy.”

Johnny saw Roy out, while Mike put his half-empty coffee cup in the sink.

“Sorry,” Johnny said, when he returned.

“About what?” Mike asked.

“About Roy being here.”

Mike shook his head. “You don’t _ever_ have to be sorry about something like that.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said. “’Cause me and Roy, well, we watch out for each other.”

“I know you do.” Mike suddenly felt like Roy looked.

“What do you need right now, Mike?” Johnny asked softly. “Tell me what you need.”

Mike suddenly choked up, and Johnny led him to the couch. “I need … I need to tell you what happened.”

“Okay.”

“I, uh …” Mike buried his face in his hands, elbows on knees, and choked back a sob. “Sorry. I thought I was doing okay.”

“It’s all right.” Johnny rubbed Mike’s back and neck. “Take your time. There’s no requirement for you to feel any particular way right now.”

Mike looked up at him. “Cap said the same thing. We should allow ourselves to feel however we feel. And …”

“And what, babe?”

“And we should allow ourselves to be taken care of,” Mike whispered, leaning into Johnny. “And God, Johnny, I’m so glad to be coming home to you this morning.”

“I’m glad I get to take care of you,” Johnny murmured into Mike’s hair.

Mike closed his eyes again, and was assaulted by an afterimage of the dead man in the hallway, and a flashback to seeing the three other victims laid out in the triage area. 

“Jesus, Johnny. All _four_ of them. A guy from 8s brought down the mom, and Roy and Phillips got the kids, but then it was too hot for anyone to go back in. They all … you could tell all three of them were bad. Floppy, and gray, you know?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“And one of the kids was burned. He somehow survived for an hour or so.”

“I doubt he ever regained consciousness,” Johnny said quietly.

“God, I hope not,” Mike said.

Johnny sat close, an arm around Mike, and waited for Mike to go on.

“Chet and I … we found the dad. After the fire was controlled, and the place was ventilated. He, uh …” Mike swallowed hard. “He was in the hallway, right outside one of the kids’ doors. He was trying to get to his kids, Johnny.”

“I know.”

“And he didn’t make it. And the kids didn’t make it. _Nobody_ fucking made it! It’s so _stupid!_ ” Mike looked up, tears running down his face. “And Johnny, the dad—I know it’s just what happens to muscles in the heat, but I swear he looked like he was trying to punch the fire out. Hands balled up into fists, arms drawn back—he looked like he was trying to beat the shit out of the fire, and get to his kids.”

“He went out into the _hallway_ , Mike, which was surely more dangerous than his bedroom. So yeah—he _was_ trying to beat the shit outta that fire. Even if that boxer posture is because of heat, that’s exactly what he was tryin’ to do.”

Mike blew his nose on his handkerchief, and shoved it angrily back into his pocket. He leaned his head back onto the back of the couch, unconsciously duplicating Roy’s movements from a few minutes ago, and closed his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said, fumbling for Johnny’s hand, “for letting me spill my guts on you. I thought—I thought I was dealing okay with this, but … it really got to me.”

“Hey—it’s all right. I gotcha, all right?”

“Yeah.” 

They sat there for another minute. Mike sagged further and further into the couch as he felt the chemicals of exhaustion and grief settling in for the long haul. 

“I need to sleep,” Mike said.

“Okay, then, let’s go lie down.” 

Johnny led Mike to the bedroom. 

He just stood there in the bedroom, not moving. Johnny wrapped his arms around Mike, and just held him for a minute or so. He then bent down to the floor, and helped Mike out of his socks and shoes. He undressed him down to his t-shirt and boxers, and gently steered him to the bed.

“C’mon. You lie down. I gotcha.”

Mike lay on his side in a ball and buried his face in his hands. Johnny held him as he cried, and kept holding him as he finally fell asleep. 

~!~!~!~

When Mike woke up from a deep, mercifully dreamless sleep several hours later, Johnny was there, still—or again—Mike didn’t know which. He stretched and yawned, and turned to Johnny. 

“Hey,” Johnny said, putting down the book he’d been reading.

“Hi. What time is it?”

“One thirty. I figured I’d let you sleep until you woke up.”

“Thanks. I needed it. And, uh, thanks for listening, and, uh, being here. Now, and this morning.”

“No place I’d rather be, Mike.” 

Mike sat up and kissed Johnny on the lips. “There’s no way you can possibly get how … big of a deal it was for me to be able to come here this morning, and have you listen, and understand, and … and … just _be_ there.”

“Like I said—there was nowhere I’d rather be. You, uh, didn’t get a lot of … I don’t know. Support, I guess. Before, with your ex. Did you.” 

Mike shook his head. “What Roy said, about the worst thing he could imagine in a wife? Works the same way for boyfriends, too. Don’t get me wrong—we loved each other. For a while, at least. But that wasn’t enough. For either one of us. The longer we were together, the less we understood each other.”

“Sorry. And, sorry about Roy being here this morning.”

Mike shook his head. “Like I said before, it’s not a problem—honest. You guys are like family to each other, and I’m not here to get in the way of that.”

“Thanks. And, uh, I think I need to tell him. About us. At some point.”

“Of course. Whenever you like.”

“Thanks. I’ll find a time when it seems like the normal thing to do.” Johnny kissed Mike again. “You hungry?”

“Ravenous,” Mike said. 

“Good. Because I’m gonna make Gage’s special grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Why do I have the feeling,” Mike said, as he pulled on his clothes, “that there’s gonna be more between the bread than cheese?”

Johnny rubbed his hands together and grinned. “You’re catchin’ on to the John Gage school of cuisine, Mikey! But here’s the deal. Don’t ask what’s in ‘em. Don’t watch me make ‘em. Just eat it, and if you hate it, okay. But I bet you won’t.”

“Like I said, I’ll try anything once. And I don’t even necessarily have to know what it is before I try it, either.”

“Are you _trying_ to make me drag you back into that bed and do somethin’ weird to ya?”

“Not yet. I’m too hungry right now. But maybe later.”

Mike drank coffee and read the paper in the living room while Johnny cooked up the sandwiches. The morning’s fire hadn’t made it into today’s edition, but it would surely be there tomorrow. He got to the movie schedules, and remembered their plan for the evening. He sat down at the dining room table with his coffee, and talked to Johnny through the pass-through between the kitchen and dining room.

“Hey, Johnny?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if we maybe didn’t go see that movie tonight? Maybe a different one, or maybe just stay in?”

“Sure, no problem. It’s supposed to be pretty dark and grim.”

“Not really what I need today, I think. Say, what do you do when you’ve had a really bad run?”

“Well,” Johnny said, flipping a sandwich with a spatula, “usually I get out of town. If I want to brood, or contemplate, or what have you, I’ll go up a mountain somewhere.”

“What if you don’t want to brood? What then?”

“Umm …”

“Sorry, too personal. Sorry.”

“No—it’s fine. It’s just a little embarrassing. Also immature, and irresponsible. What I’d do, was, go to a pickup joint I know up in Santa Barbara. Find another guy who wanted to blow off some steam. Get laid. Go home. Forget about the whole thing.” He leaned on the counter of the pass-through, and continued. “Don’t get me wrong—this wasn’t like every month or something. Maybe once or twice a year. And sometimes I wouldn’t score, so I’d drink too much, sleep in the back of the Rover, wake up feeling worse than I started out, and try to go home and forget about the whole thing anyhow. I was never very happy with myself, after, no matter which way it went.”

“But it worked.”

“Yeah.” Johnny sighed. “Yeah. Both ways worked. As much as anything did.”

“Sometimes you just have to do what works,” Mike said. 

It didn’t escape either of them that the entire conversation was framed in the past tense. 

“I guess.” Johnny peeked under one of the sandwiches with a spatula. “These are ready.” He served them up onto plates, and sat down at the table.

“Now remember, don’t look; just eat,” Johnny said, as he took a bite.

Mike followed Johnny’s instructions. He took a large bite off the corner of his sandwich. The outside was crisp and salty. The inside was soft, gooey, salty-sweet, and chewy, but also with some crunch and spice to it. He couldn’t readily identify everything in the filling, but it was delicious.

“Mm,” Mike said, around a bite. 

“You like it?” Johnny grinned back at him. 

“It’s great,” Mike said. “But I really do want to know what’s in it.”

“All right,” Johnny said. “Turkey, cheddar cheese, raspberry jam, and horseradish.”

“Uh, but there’s something crunchy inside, too.”

“Oh yeah—that’s the potato chips. The jam is really supposed to be cranberry jelly, but it’s hard to get at this time of year. So I substitute. Roy’s kids call these ‘Uncle Johnny’s Grilled Thanksgiving.’”

Mike laughed, and took another bite.

“You actually like it?” Johnny asked.

“I sure do. It was smart, though, to not tell me what was in it first. ‘Cause damn.”

They each finished their first sandwich.

“I’m gonna make another round. You want another one?” Johnny asked.

“Sure—thanks. I guess I kind of missed breakfast. I guess I probably wouldn’t really have been able to eat anyhow.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes,” Johny said, as he slathered two pieces of bread with jam and then two with horseradish. He put the jelly bread on the griddle, then added cheese, then a layer of potato chips, then turkey, then the horseradish-coated bread. Mike watched his every move.

“I don’t think I would’ve wanted to eat that if I’d known what went into it,” he said.

“Well, that’s why I didn’t say.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that.” Mike watched as Johnny tended the griddle. “You got any other concoctions like that? I mean, stuff that is really great, but nobody in their right mind would eat if they knew what was in it?”

“I sure do. And I wanna make all of ‘em for you, eventually.”

“Good.”

“Now that I know you can handle it, I mean.”

“Shut up,” Mike said, grinning. “I can handle anything you can dish out.”

“I bet you can,” Johnny said, looking at him thoughtfully. “I just bet you can.”

Mike started cleaning up some of the things Johnny had gotten out to make the sandwiches. 

“Does this all go in the deli drawer?”

“Yep. You’re catching on to the system, aren’t you,” Johnny said, as he flipped the sandwiches.

“Uh huh. Anyhow—I was thinking, we’re gonna skip the movie, but we could still hit the beach this afternoon. Or we could just go up to my place. Either way. I don’t have a strong preference.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting out. I also find—and I don’t know if this works for you, but it seems to help me an awful lot—that if I get outside after a real bad shift, where I’ve had to sleep for a long time the next day, that it helps me get my sleeping back on track better. Something about sunlight, I bet.”

“Okay—I’ll try anything. It was such a miserable shift, and I slept so long today, I better try to get back on track or I’m gonna be really fucked up. So beach it is.”

“Good. Let’s just finish our lunch, or whatever this is, and head out.”

“I was gonna do laundry. If you have anything we should just bring it and run large loads in my washer instead of small.”

“Man, that’d be great. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Johnny flipped the sandwiches off the griddle and onto their plates. They finished lunch, and Johnny gathered his laundry while Mike cleaned up in the kitchen. 

“Look at you!” Mike said from the kitchen, as Johnny took his laundry basket to the front door.

“Huh? What?” Johnny said.

“I don’t think that the day before yesterday you would’ve been able to carry that without lurching all over the place,” Mike said. “Sure, you’re limping, but not, well, lurching.”

“Well, I stayed off it as much as I could all day yesterday, did my exercises, and put heat on the ankle and knee a couple times yesterday, and then this morning while you were sacked out, too. It feels a lot better today.”

“That’s great. Well, I gotta change before we go to the beach.”

“Me too. I think your stuff is still in my room.”

“Oh boy,” Mike said, as they turned down the short hallway.

“Hmm?”

“We’re about to both take our clothes off in your bedroom. You _know_ I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands to myself, don’t you?” Mike said, as he followed Johnny into the bedroom.

“Is anyone saying you should even try?” Johnny asked, as he closed the door to the bedroom.

“I didn’t hear anyone say anything like that.”

“Good. Me neither. Now c’mere, Stoker. Lemme help you with that.”

**TBC**


	15. Barbecue at the DeSotos'

**Barbecue at the DeSotos’**

_Saturday afternoon, the DeSoto residence_

“Hey, this’ll be like practice for working together. If I can’t keep my eyes off your ass this afternoon, that’ll be a sign from above that maybe I should go for a transfer,” Johnny said, as Mike parked his pickup in front of Roy’s house.

“No way, pal. If anyone transfers, it should be me. Besides,” Mike said, and then stopped.

“Besides what?” Johnny asked.

“Nothing. No—that’s not what I mean to say. Look, can I tell you later? It’s nothing bad or anything—it’s good. I just need to think about it a little more,” Mike said. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I certainly understand the feeling of words coming out of your mouth and wishing you had a fishing pole to reel ‘em back in with. So I’m not gonna fault you for saying ‘besides’ and then changing your mind.”

“I’m not changing my mind. I’m just … postponing.”

“I know it. And I’m sayin’ it’s okay.”

“Okay.”

“All right.”

They sat there in the truck for another second or two.

“Was that a fight?” Mike asked.

Johnny burst out laughing. “If you have to ask, then the answer is ‘no.’ C’mon—let’s go practice keeping our hands to ourselves.”

“I want to kiss you so bad right now I think I’m gonna bust a gut.”

“Me too. But, we’d better get used to it. Because like we talked about on the way over, we pretty much have to ignore each other. Or at most, act like we did before.”

“Yeah.”

Johnny heaved himself out of the truck, and grabbed the crutches out of the back seat. He frowned, and then tossed them back where they came from. He closed the door, stood there for a second, and then opened the door angrily and yanked them back out again, slamming the door shut this time.

Mike raised his eyebrows.

“I just decided it was better to have them and not need them, than to need them and then have to send someone back to the truck for them. Because if I have them and don’t need them, then it looks like I’m getting better, right? But if I need them and don’t have them, and someone has to go get them for me, then it looks like I’m getting _worse_.”

Mike shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”

“That makes one of us, then.”

They let themselves in the side gate to Roy’s yard, where they found all the rest of their crew present and accounted for, including Rick Phillips, Johnny’s sub.

“Hey, Johnny, Mike! Come on back!” Roy said.

Jenny and Chris DeSoto came charging up to Johnny. Jenny, all of three feet five, stood in front of Johnny with her hands on her hips, frowning at him.

“You got your cast off. You’re a‘posta be all _better_ now! Daddy said you could get your cast off when you were _better_ , and now your cast is _off_ , but you still can’t _walk_!” Her lower lip was beginning to quiver.

“It’s a lot better, Jenny. The bones that were broken are all better. But when you don’t use something for a while, it doesn’t work so well when you try to use it again,” Johnny explained. “So your dad’s right, but I still have some work to do to make my leg get strong again.”

“Oh,” Jenny said. “Is it rusty?”

Mike stifled a laugh.

“Uh, not exactly,” Johnny said. “The muscles in my leg—that’s what makes your body move, is muscles—just get sore and tired really easily. But the joints—those are the bendy parts, like ankles and knees—well, I guess it’s _kind_ of like they got rusty, because they don’t want to move so well anymore.”

“Oh,” Jenny said. She bounded off through the yard, apparently satisfied with Johnny’s explanation.

“I bet you have a big scar,” Chris said. “I’m not allowed to ask to see it, though. Mom said.”

“I’ll show you later,” Johnny whispered, “while your mom’s not looking. There are two, and one is absolutely huge.”

“Cool!” Chris said.

Mike was looking pale. “I’m gonna grab a beer. You want something?” he asked Johnny.

“Sure, I’d have a beer. Thanks.”

They both made their way towards the group in the backyard.

“Gaaaaage!!!” yelled Chet. “Lookit you, with no plaster on any appendage!”

“All right!” said Marco.

“Yes indeed, folks, John Gage is on the mend,” Johnny said, leaning his crutches up against the wooden fence. He hobbled over to where Mike was popping two cans of beer open and took the one Mike stuck out towards him. He took a long swig.

Captain Stanley came over from the other side of the yard, where he’d been talking with Joanne, Roy and Marco.

“John! How’s that leg, pal, now that the cast has been off for a few days?”

“Oh, fair to middling, I’d say. I’m getting around a little better every day. And I’ll tell ya, it’s _great_ to be able to go to the beach or get in the shower without a plastic bag on over a hot plaster tree trunk. I bet it’ll only be a little while longer till I’m back in the driver’s seat. Man, that’ll be great. I’ll celebrate it as Independence Day, I think. Just not on the fourth of July.”

“That’s terrific! You been keeping busy lately?”

“Oh, I sure have.” Johnny sensed it was time for a diversion. “And what’s going on at Station 51 these days?”

“Oh, I’m sure the guys have been keeping you in the loop, haven’t they?”

“Well, it’s always nice to get the official point of view, you know?”

“There was that terrible fatal house fire, but I’m sure you’ve heard about that.”

“Yeah, I did, Cap. Sounds like one of those things where everyone did everything they humanly could, but it just didn’t turn out well. Sorry about that. But what _didn’t_ I hear about?”

“Let’s see … oh—we had a fairly amusing building inspection earlier on that same shift.”

Mike started to back away, figuring that his spaciness would come up. And he didn’t think that being there while Johnny was told the story would really fall under the umbrella of ‘interactions that would be completely safe.’

“Whoa, pal—you think you can get out of this one?” Cap said to Mike.

Mike sighed. Okay, so he was staying. He’d just pretend everything was like it was before. Fine.

“Oooh,” said Johnny, “now _this_ I gotta hear. Tell all, Cap.”

“Well, I’m not gonna mention any names, here, but a certain A-shift engineer was not on top of his game that morning. No sirree. Almost late for roll call, and then he couldn’t pay attention to anything I was saying about the day’s schedule—not a thing. And then—”

“Aw, c’mon, Cap—I think I should get to tell this part,” Chet said.

Cap made a sweeping motion as if ushering Chet on stage.

“So Stoker got latrine duty with me, even though he wasn’t late like me, because he _totally_ blew it at roll call—and when was the last time that happened, I ask you? And he wasn’t listening to _anything_ I was saying, either, the whole time we were working.”

“Now why would anyone want to listen to _you_ , Chet?” Johnny jibed.

“Do ya wanna hear the rest of the story, or not, Gage?” Chet said.

“All right, all right; go on.”

“So anyhow, I was doing my best to fill him in on the briefing that he missed because he was in la-la land, or on cloud nine, or whatever, and he was definitely still waaaay out there. So I had a little fun with him, right? And got him to agree that it was a good idea to charge the standpipe system at the building to 10,000 psi. With pineapple juice.”

Johnny looked at Mike, eyes sparkling. He knew he’d really get it, later, but whatever ‘it’ was going to be, he wouldn’t mind. “Well, you must’ve had something on your mind, huh, pal?”

“Maybe,” Mike said, clenching his jaw to keep a straight face.

“More like some _one_ ,” Chet said. “I figured it had to’ve been a hot date the night before, the way he was acting. So then I _really_ got him. I said he had a hickey on his neck, and he actually looked in the mirror! He looked, which means he _must’ve_ had a hot night, or else why would he even—”

“Now Chet,” Johnny said, “don’t you think maybe that’s just Mike’s personal business?”

Chet stopped with his mouth open.

“Uhhhhh …”

“So, Stoker—did you want to discuss that part of your day, or maybe not?”

“Maybe not,” Mike said.

“Kelly, you just got shut down, I believe,” Cap said, grinning. “So back to the building inspection.” Cap told the story of the broken sprinkler head creating a flood on the fifth floor of the building.

“That’s a good one, even _without_ pineapple juice at ten thousand psi,” Johnny said, winking at Mike. “I guess you’ll be back there, huh?”

“Yep. Anyhow—that was the only amusing thing I can think of in the last couple of shifts.”

Jenny DeSoto was standing near the group, waiting patiently for her turn to talk.

“Uncle Johnny?”

“Yeah, sweetheart? Whatcha got there?”

Jenny handed Johnny am aerosol can. “This is what Daddy puts on parts that won’t move. Or if they’re rusty. You said maybe you’re rusty. So you should try it.”

Every adult within earshot stifled their laughter admirably as Johnny took the can of WD-40 from Jenny. “Well, I don’t know if this works on knees, but I’ll give it a shot.” He played along, and squirted a minute blast of the product onto his stiff right knee, and made a production of stretching and bending. “I think maybe it’s a _little_ bit better. Thanks, honey.”

Johnny handed the can back to Jenny, winning everyone’s respect by keeping a straight face throughout the entire episode.

“Oh, I bet Daddy would let you borrow this. If you said ‘please.’ Because you’re a’posta, if you wanna borrow something.”

“I have my very own can at home, actually, but thanks for the offer.”

“If you have your own, then why didn’t you _use_ it, you silly goose?”

“Well, I just didn’t think of it,” Johnny admitted. “So thanks for the tip.”

“Any time, Junior,” Jenny said, as she took the can and headed back to the shed.

Mike, Marco and Cap were hanging onto the fence for dear life, and allowed themselves to completely dissolve after Jenny was a safe distance away. Johnny collapsed in laughter onto Chet, who held him up, or possibly held himself up on Johnny. Mike collapsed to his knees next to the fence, and clutched his midsection as he completely lost it.

Chet was the first to recover. “Holy crap, that was priceless! How the hell did you keep a straight face through that whole thing, Gage?”

Johnny wiped a tear from his cheek. “Sheer willpower, Chet. Nothin’ else.”

“Burgers up!” Roy called from the grill. He looked over to where the other men from his shift were still trying to contain themselves. “What’s going on over there?”

Johnny limped over, and grabbed a plate and held it out over the grill. “Your delightful daughter just offered me your can of WD-40 to get my knee moving better. Apparently it’s what you’re supposed to use on rusty parts that aren’t moving.”

Roy laughed. “Did it work?”

“Well, maybe a little.” Johnny took the burger on the plate, and turned around and handed it to Mike. “Here ya go.” He picked up another plate and held it out for a burger.

“What?” Johnny said, looking at Roy’s expression.

“I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you give someone else first crack at a burger, is all.”

“Well, maybe I’m just so grateful for all the help I’ve been getting from all of my buddies lately that I just wanna do whatever I can, ya know?” Which wasn’t it at all, of course, but Roy didn’t have to know that. Not yet.

The rest of the afternoon progressed in a relaxed fashion. Johnny had a good time meeting Phillips, and gave him plenty of good Roy material to defend himself with on the job. He was glad to see that his wife took an interest in her husband’s job, and seemed like the kind of person who would support him through the difficult times. As it turned out, she was an ICU nurse at another hospital in the area, so she would certainly understand the difficult human aspects of the job.

Chet and Marco regaled him with the tale of what he’d missed by not going out with them the other night when Chet had called. The pair apparently ran into a bachelorette party, of all things.

“And you wouldn’t have believed it, Gage. As soon as these girls—not the bride, she was behaving herself, I’ll give her that—but as soon as they heard we were firemen—BAM! They were on us like stink on a skunk,” Chet said.

“I’m sure they’d be happy to hear that,” Johnny said. “Anyhow, you should be glad I wasn’t there. Because … you know.”

“No, Johnny, we _don’t_ know,” Marco said. “Tell us, would you?”

“Weeeeyell,” Johnny said, stretching the one syllable out into at least three, “first, there’s the Gage magnetism. And second of all, sure, firemen are hot, but _hurt_ firemen? On _crutches_? Injured in the line of _duty_?” He shook his head. “You guys wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“Gage magnetism my ass,” Chet grumbled. “The only thing _you_ pick up is multiple fractures, and concussions, and monkey flu, and—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Johnny warned, shaking his finger at Chet. “If you’ll recall, I was already occupied that night. Which is lucky for you two.”

“In any case,” Marco said, “all I’m gonna say is that a good time was had by all.”

“Seriously?” Johnny said, laughing. “All at _once_? In the same—”

“Oh, please,” Chet groaned. “Somebody, just shoot me now, put me out of my misery!” He looked around “Stoker, you’re not busy! Come kill me. Please, I’m begging you!”

“Why, what’d Gage do to you?” Mike said, coming over and joining the group.

Johnny covered his heart with his hand. “I’m wounded, Stoker. Wounded. Why would you think I’d do something awful to our sweet Chester?”

“Because I’ve _met_ you?” Mike said as blandly as possible. But on the inside, he was thinking, _careful, Mikey. Careful_. But he had to admit to himself that he was actually having a great time, flirting without anyone having any idea that was what was happening.

“Mm,” Johnny replied. “Yeah, that’d do it all right.”

“Oooh, Stoker’s gettin’ in on the game,” Chet said.

“What, the ‘kick-Gage-while-he’s-down’ game?” Johnny said. “Don’t get used to it, is all I’m gonna say. ‘Cause in a coupla months, I’ll be back at 51s, making everyone’s shift more interesting.”

“And I bet the Phantom will have some things up his sleeve for that day,” Marco said.

“I’ll just try to stay out of the line of fire,” Mike said. “Or maybe just stay in my gear all day.”

“Aw, crap,” Johnny said, suddenly scowling.

“What?” the other three asked together.

“I just realized—I’m gonna hafta break in new gear.”

“True,” Mike said, “but think of it this way. At least our county has tan-colored gear. Think about those poor bastards from, say, Pasadena. How’d you like to break in brand new, bright _yellow_ gear?”

Johnny executed an exaggerated mock-shudder. “Thanks for that image. Here’s one for you: how’d you like it if the county decided to switch all the trucks over to that tennis-ball color?”

Mike laughed. “All right, all right, _touché_! That’s even more un-sexy than yellow gear!”

“Got you where it hurts, huh, Stoker?” Johnny said.

“Yeah, well, before you say anything else about my fire engine, just think about how bad—and _where_ —your new gear is gonna chafe, and shut up.”

Johnny winced. “Shutting up, shutting up. Except, now I need another drink. Who’s in?” he said, as he limped towards the cooler.

Marco, Chet, and Mike all gathered around the cooler, and the four of them popped their beers open.

Chris sauntered over with a soccer ball. “Who wants to kick the ball around with me?” he said.

“I’m out for now,” Johnny said. “But hey—I forgot to show you this. Check it out.”

“Hey, Chris, I’m gonna go see if your dad needs a hand at the grill,” Mike said hastily.

Chris looked on raptly as Johnny rolled his pants leg up to his knee.

“This long scar—that’s where they had to do a little operation.”

Chris stared at the red railroad-track scar. “Wow,” he breathed. “But what’s the other one?”

“You really wanna know?” Johnny said. “Cause it’s pretty gross. That’s why Mike went all the way over there—he’s a grown-up, and _he_ thinks it’s gross.”

“There’s a kid in my class who faints when he sees a lot of blood,” Chris said. “And he’s a boy. So I guess it’s okay for grown-ups to get grossed out by yucky stuff. But not me. So what’s that one from, anyhow? I’m no sissy.”

“Now, Mike’s not a sissy,” Johnny said. “Everyone’s got their things, ya know. Like I can’t stand seeing blisters. That doesn’t make me a sissy, right?”

“I guess not,” Chris said.

“Okay. So this one—you ready?”

Chris nodded.

“It’s from where the bone poked out through my skin.”

Chris paled. “Uh, I didn’t know that could happen. That, uh, your bones could come out.”

“Yep,” Johnny said, nodding. “If they break real bad, they’re real sharp, and they can poke out.”

Chris sat down on the stairs of the deck with a thump that made Johnny wince. He sat down next to Chris.

“Whoa, buddy. You okay there?”

“Yeah,” Chris said wanly.

“Don’t worry. Your dad took real good care of me. And I’m fine. I’ll be back at work in no time, now that everything’s all healed up.”

“I think maybe I’ll just be a regular fireman,” Chris said, “and not a fireman/paramedic.”

“That’s a fine job,” Johnny said. “Though there’s lots of other good ones too. Ones that are safer. Like, say, test pilot, or lion tamer.”

“Huh?”

“Kidding, kidding,” Johnny said. “Whaddaya say we do a little really tame soccer. Just a few kicks back and forth?”

Chris looked up. “You sure?”

Johnny nodded. “Just a few kicks, and just little kicks. Or I’ll get in big trouble with Mi—” He clamped his mouth shut as soon as he realized what he was about to say. To a seven-year-old.

“With who?”

“With my doctor,” Johnny amended. “And come to think of it, probably your dad, too.”

Chris nodded. “He did say he’d tear all his hair out the next time he had to patch you up.”

“So, three small kicks each then?”

“You got it, Uncle Johnny.”

~!~!~!~

The evening began its inexorable wind-down when Jenny collapsed into tears at some real or imagined slight from Chris, who staunchly declared his innocence. The other adults started cleaning up as Roy took Jenny, who was kicking and screaming ‘But I’m not tired!’ the entire way up the stairs.

“Hey, Stoker, why don’t I take Gage home. It’s out of your way, but it’s completely on my way.”

Mike panicked for a moment. “Uh …” He couldn’t think of a graceful way to decline on Johnny’s behalf.

Johnny, unfortunately, couldn’t think of a graceful way to decline on his own behalf. “Um, thanks, Chet. Mike, lemme just get my keys out of your truck.”

“Uh …” He didn’t think Johnny had left anything in his truck. Their plan had been to go back to Johnny’s and spend the night together there. How on _earth_ was he going to get Johnny on his own before he left with Chet to confirm that—

Oh. Duh. “Okay—c’mon.”

Mike and Johnny walked out the side gate of the yard to Mike’s truck. When they were safely out of earshot, Johnny giggled. Actually giggled.

“You shoulda seen the look on your face, Stoker!”

“Oh, can it, Gage. You still up for me coming over?”

“Course I am. Thought I oughta confirm it though, since you looked like you were about to pass out just then.”

“I just … panicked.”

“Thought so. Look—how ‘bout if you just wait about fifteen minutes or so, and then pop on over. I’ll tell Chet to park in the visitor’ spot where you usually park, so if his car is still there when you show up, you’ll know I haven’t managed to get rid of him yet.”

“Okay. That’s a good plan. I’ll, uh, see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah. Good.”

They trudged back into the yard.

“Find those keys, Gage?” Chet asked, tossing his own car keys up and down.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Well—I guess we’re outta here. Thanks again, Joanne. And I hope Miss Jenny gets settled down soon. Good to see everyone. You guys have a safe shift tomorrow, all right?” Johnny grabbed his crutches and carried them in one hand, as he and Chet headed to the gate.

Mike dawdled by picking up all the empty cups and other debris he could find in the yard. He took a double handful of trash into the kitchen, where he found the Stanleys and Joanne washing some dishes. Roy was apparently still upstairs with Jenny.

Mike deposited the trash in the kitchen garbage can. “Anything I can do in here?” he asked.

“Gee, Mike, I don’t think so,” said Joanne. “Thanks for swinging by to pick up Johnny. He’s looking better every day, don’t you think?”

Mike couldn’t disagree with that at all. “Yeah, he sure is.”

“Say, Mike,” Cap said, after drying the last dish in the dish-drainer, “it’s great that you and John have turned out to get along so well. I mean, he even tried to save you from Chet today!”

“Yeah, Cap,” Mike said. “Even though I never say anything, and he never shuts up, we have more in common that you’d think.” He tried, and failed, not to think about what Cap would say if he ever found out exactly how true that statement was.

“Well, he’s different one-on-one. All you guys are.”

“I guess everyone probably is,” Mike said. “Anyhow—I’m gonna head out. Thanks again, Joanne, and please say thanks to Roy as well.”

Mike exited through the side door, and sat in his truck for a moment. If he left now, he was sure Chet would still be hanging around Johnny’s. But, he couldn’t just sit in the DeSotos’ driveway. So he drove around aimlessly for a while, until he thought it was probably safe to head over to Johnny’s. He pulled into the parking lot, and groaned in frustration when he saw Chet’s car in the visitor spot Johnny had mentioned.

He went to the convenience store on the corner, for lack of anything better to do, and killed ten more minutes buying milk (which Johnny never seemed to have enough of), eggs (and if he kept eating like Gage, he’d have a spare tire in no time), and apples (because he had to have something to snack on other than Johnny’s perpetual choice of milk and cookies).

Once more, Mike entered the parking lot of Johnny’s complex. This time, ‘his’ spot was vacant. He took the stairs two at a time, and tapped on the door.

The door opened instantly, and Mike found himself hauled bodily into the cramped foyer. He dropped the grocery bag, but the thought of broken eggs didn’t enter his mind as he chuckled into his lover’s kiss. He left just enough room between their bodies for Johnny to slip his hand in and unbutton his shirt, which quickly landed on top of the paper grocery bag.

“I thought I’d never get rid of Kelly,” Johnny said eventually.

“I think we broke the eggs.”

“Huh?”

“But I don’t really care, actually,” Mike said into Johnny’s neck, as he started undoing the buttons on Johnny’s shirt. “You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs, right?”

“Mmm, you gonna make me an omelet?”

“No, I’m gonna make you a quivering, moaning, wrecked, sexy fireman, at least twice before I have to leave tomorrow morning.”

“Can I get fries with that?”

“No, but I have some special sauce that—”

“You know, let’s just shut up now. Bedroom, Stoker. Now.”

**TBC**

  



	16. Locks and Keys

**Locks and Keys**

Johnny half-pushed, half-dragged Mike into the bedroom of the apartment, feeling pleased at his physical ability to do so. When he was honest with himself, though, he realized it wasn’t all that much of a challenge, because Mike was cooperating nicely. They helped each other shed clothing along the way, and before they both knew it, they were in Johnny’s bed together. 

“That’s better,” Johnny said, between kisses and heavy breaths. “Man, we’re in … _big_ trouble when I … get back to work, because I—god, Mikey, that feels good—I could barely keep my hands off you at Roy’s.”

“Practice makes—ooohhh, keep doing that. Mmm …”

“I don’ _wanna_ practice keeping my hands off you, Stoker. I wanna do what we’re doing now, forever.”

“Okay. I’ll call Cap in the morning, and tell him I’m quitting so I can stay in your bed for the rest of my life. He’ll understand. I’m sure he—aaah …”

“Okay, Mikey? You c’n make all the noise you want, but no more talking. Anyone ever tell you ya talk too much? And I’m gonna quit talkin’ now too, ‘cause I got better things to do with my mouth.”

Johnny started at the base of Mike’s cock, licking and sucking his way to the tip, where he closed his lips over the head. Mike writhed and did indeed make some noise as Johnny swirled and sucked at the tip, and began working his mouth up and down. One of Mike’s hands reached forward to grab Johnny’s hair, and his other hand flailed, searching for something to anchor it. Johnny caught the flailing hand with one of his own, and Mike squeezed it tightly. 

Johnny used his free arm to try to pin Mike down when he was nearly gagged as Mike thrust up involuntarily. He didn’t mind the rough treatment; he was so astonished by how fast he’d managed to get Mike so riled up he didn’t care what Mike did in his throes. He looked up to try to get a view of Mike’s face. Mike’s eyes were closed tightly, and his neck was arched all the way back, the muscles and veins standing out as he vocalized his pleasure repeatedly.

“Uhhhn, Johnny! Uhhn, ohfuckohfuck I—”

Mike suddenly pulled Johnny’s head in farther, and Johnny took it like a man as Mike thrust his hips up and pulsed his come down Johnny’s throat, shouting as he came hard, less than five minutes after he’d walked in the door of Johnny’s apartment.

Johnny had to disentangle Mike’s hand from his hair, and pull away, so he could breathe. He breathed hard for a few seconds along with Mike, who was sprawled out on the bed bonelessly, like a jellyfish on the beach. He worked his way up to the head of the bed, and kissed Mike’s open lips. Mike groaned into the kiss, and pulled back after a second, rubbing his forehead.

“Shit, babe, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to get so rough with you.”

Johnny replied Mike off by kissing him again, pushing Mike’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “It’s okay. Honest. I kind of … um … didn’t exactly mind.” He punctuated his remark by rocking his harder-than-ever cock against Mike’s hip.

“You … what?” Mike said, eyes now totally open. “No. Uh-uh, babe. No way. I don’t get off on—” 

“Hey, I’m not sayin’ I want you to, uh, you know, hurt me or anything, but … a little manhandling? In the heat of the moment like that? I … guess I kinda dig that. Seein’ you all hot, and outta control, and thinkin’ maybe I had somethin’ to do with that? It was hot.”

Mike squinted up at Johnny. “You had _everything_ to do with that. You only have to _look_ at me and yep, I’m all revved up and ready to go. But … the thing is, I love you, babe, which means I don’t wanna hurt you. So that’s why I kind of have mixed feelings about what you said just now.”

Johnny kissed Mikey again. “I love you too, you know. Which is why I’m telling you all this. And what I’m sayin’ is, there’s a difference between getting injured—which I _don’t_ get off on, thank you very much—and … well, I guess I don’t know exactly how to put it. It’s like taking a food that’s already pretty good by itself, and putting hot sauce on it. Or putting whiskey in your coffee.”

“Spiked,” Mike said. “You like it spiked.”

“That’s it!” Johnny said. “Spiked. With a little, I don’t know, adrenaline, or maybe even a little bit of a … a burn, or a sting.”

“Okay,” Mike said. “Okay. How ‘bout this. I’ll do my best not freak out if you ask me for something like that, okay?”

Johnny nodded. “Okay.”

“But your end of the deal has to be that (a), I’m allowed to say ‘no’ if I’m uncomfortable with what you’re asking, and (b), if there’s ever, and I mean _ever_ , something happening that you don’t like—even if it’s something you asked for in the first place—you _have_ to say. We _both_ have to follow _that_ rule, incidentally—it’s not just for you.”

“That’s good,” Johnny said. “It’s a deal. Shake on it?”

“How ‘bout if I blow you, instead?”

“I could live with that.”

~!~!~!~

_Later that week_

Mike pulled up to the patient-pickup area at Rampart, and saw Johnny waiting. He was chatting with a nurse who was apparently having a smoking break. Mike shook his head, wondering how anyone who worked in health care could stand to have that habit. 

Johnny waved as he saw Mike’s truck pull up, said something to the nurse, and trotted over to the truck.

“It’s a go!” he said, as he pulled the door shut. “Yes sir, John Gage is once again completely independent. Back behind the wheel, that’s me.”

“That’s great! I didn’t have any doubts, babe. It’s still great, though. You wanna go straight to Roy’s and pick up the Rover?” Mike asked, as he pulled up to the exit from the parking lot.

“Uh huh. He said he’d be home all morning. Man, it’s gonna be so great to be able to drive again. Four months, Mike. It’s been almost four months since I was able to feel like an independent adult. I mean, sure, I know there’s lots of people who don’t have cars, who are perfectly independent adults. But I guess, just having that freedom, and then getting it taken away—that sucked.”

“Yeah, I know. But that’s all over now. I think most of the rest of your recovery is in your hands now.”

“Finally. I mean, sure, I know I won’t get strong and fit again instantly, and that I hafta be careful not to overdo it and set myself back, but still. Things are looking up.”

“Yeah, they sure are.” Mike turned onto the main street that would take them towards the DeSotos’ house.

“Hey, you’ve got an appointment this afternoon, right? With your doc?” Johnny asked.

“Uh huh. In half an hour. You wanna meet up at my place after?”

“Sure. Hah! I can just drive myself up there. Maybe I’ll hang out with Roy while you’re at your appointment, and then head up there around when you’d be leaving from HQ, so I don’t get there before you.”

“Or,” Mike said, “actually, you could up to my place whenever you want.”

“Huh? I mean, I guess I could hang out in the hammock. It’s a nice day.”

“It is, but that’s not what I meant. Open the glove compartment,” Mike said.

“Okay …” Johnny opened the compartment, and saw only one unfamiliar item—a small manila envelope.

“That’s for you,” Mike said, smiling slightly, but keeping his eyes on the road. “Open it up.”

Johnny lifted the flap of the envelope, and a key fell out into his hand.

“Is this what I think it is?” Johnny asked.

“If you think it’s your very own key to my house, then yes. I know my place is kind of off the beaten path, but it means I want you to be able to come and go as you wish.”

“That’s … wow.” Johnny cleared his throat. “Thanks. I think I’ll probably make a point of being there before you get home.”

“Like I said,” Mike said, smiling even more. “Come and go as you wish. But I kind of like the idea of coming home this afternoon and finding you in my living room with your feet up on my coffee table.”

“Or naked in your bed?” Johnny asked, grinning.

“Now that’d be just fine, too.”

“Let’s see what happens.”

“Good.”

Mike took a left onto the last main road before the turn-off onto Roy’s street. 

Johnny worked the shiny brass key onto his key ring, and jingled the whole bunch in satisfaction. 

“There,” he said. “I, uh, wish I had a spare key to give you. But I’ve only got mine plus the one Roy’s got, and it would be weird to ask for it back. And they’re both stamped ‘do not duplicate.’”

“I know. That’s okay. Besides, with the amount of trouble you get yourself into on the job, Roy oughta have a key.”

“Um. I guess so. But maybe I can get the landlord to give me another,” Johnny said. “I’ll ask. ‘Cause I really wanna give you one, too.”

“Okay.”

They drove in contented silence the rest of the way to Roy’s house. Mike pulled into the DeSotos’ driveway, but left the engine on.

“It’d be weird for me to come in,” Mike said, “since I’m just the chauffeur, and I just saw Roy this morning at the station.”

“I guess.” Johnny sighed. “Fuck, Mikey. I wanna kiss you up so bad.”

“We’ve got a lot of work to do on this self-restraint stuff,” Mike said, reaching over and squeezing Johnny’s leg. “You go. I’ll just wait till I see you go in, just in case he’s not home.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. He took Mike’s hand and held it for a moment, down low where nobody would be able to see. “See you soon.”

Mike smiled. “Yeah.”

Johnny let go of Mike’s hand, and stepped out of the truck. “Thanks, Mike. What you did … giving me a key? That means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Mike said. “I better go.”

Johnny closed the truck’s door, and tore his eyes away from Mike’s.

Mike watched as Johnny rang the bell, and Roy opened the door and let Johnny in. Roy waved at Mike. Mike waved back, and backed out of the driveway, heading towards HQ for his appointment with Dr. Pritchard.

~!~!~!~

“Come on in, Mike,” Dr. Pritchard said.

Mike took his usual seat, and decided to jump right in, even though the topic he knew he needed to talk about was acutely embarrassing. But he’d decided on the drive over that there was no getting around it.

“Doc, I think I have a problem,” Mike said, cutting straight to the chase, but also wincing at his trite phrasing.

“Oh? What’s going on, Mike?”

“Well, it’s like this. It’s looking more and more like Johnny’s really gonna make it back to work. And neither one of us wants to transfer, partly because we’ve got the best team you can imagine, but partly because we decided it’d be harder to work separately than together.”

“But?” Dr. Pritchard queried.

“But,” Mike said, sighing, “we’ve had a couple social occasions with the guys from our shift since we’ve gotten together. One was last weekend, when one of the guys had a barbecue at his house, and everyone was there. And then just the other night, me and Johnny and the other two single guys on our shift went out for a burger and a beer. And it was torture, Bill. Total torture.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because now, for me and him, the normal thing is to sit next to each other. Touch each other. Hold hands. And in public—anywhere, really, but especially in front of the guys from our shift—that’s right out. One hundred percent completely out of the question. Forever.” 

Mike looked across the small living-room like area at Dr. Pritchard. “And you knew exactly what I was about to say, didn’t you.”

“Yep.”

“And you don’t have any easy answers for me, do you.”

“Well, I have _an_ answer. Just not an _easy_ one.”

“Figures.” Mike sighed. “Just once, Bill, it would be great if I had a problem where you could say, ‘oh, that’s easy. Just do such-and-such.’ Just _once_. Is that too much to ask?”

“For you, yes. Because the easy problems? You handle those on your own, just fine. And let me tell you, not everyone does. But for you, the easy problems don’t make it through these doors.”

“Yeah, all right. So what’s your hard answer to my tricky problem?”

“Practice,” Dr. Pritchard said. 

“ _Arrrgh!”_ Mike said, clenching his fists in his hair as if to tear it out. “I _knew_ you were gonna say that! I _knew_ it! Because that’s _exactly_ what I said to Johnny, and we both thought it would suck. So of _course_ that’s the answer.”

“I did say it wasn’t gonna be easy. But I really think that’s what you two need to do. Spend time together around other people. A lot. Sometimes, it could be going to the grocery store, or other public places together. Other times, you do need to spend time with mutual friends. It won’t be easy, but I think it’ll get less difficult, the more you do it. Right now, you and Johnny have one gear you’re in. But you need to learn how to shift into different gears, for different circumstances. And to be honest, if you don’t deal with this, and deal with it soon, it’s going to be an unmitigated disaster when he gets back to work.”

Mike planted his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands. “I know, I know. Okay. Practice it is, then. I guess I’ll have all the guys over sometime soon.”

“Don’t sound so unhappy about it,” Dr. Pritchard said. “It won’t be terrible.”

“I know. And I feel stupid asking you about this, actually, since it seems like I already knew what the answer was.”

“Like I’ve said before, Mike. Sometimes, hearing a neutral source confirm what you already believe, can be helpful. And that’s part of what I’m here for.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

“Now, what else should we be talking about today?”

~!~!~!~

_Meanwhile, at Roy’s house …_

“Hey, Johnny,” Roy said, waving at Mike, who was backing out of the driveway. “C’mon in.”

“Good news, Roy,” Johnny said, rattling up his bunch of keys, including the shiny new one he couldn’t tell Roy about.

“You’re on the road again?” Roy guessed.

“Yep! As of today, John Gage is a free man. No more chauffeurs necessary, though I do thank you and Joanne for all the driving you’ve both done for me. I think I honestly woulda starved to death if she hadn’t dragged me along every single time she was going to the store.”

“That’s kind of what we figured,” Roy said in the deadpan tone he often used when teasing Johnny but trying not to _sound_ like he was teasing him.

“All right, you were probably right,” Johnny conceded. “Though it probably woulda been more a case of malnutrition rather than outright starvation. Because there’s always milk and cereal, and peanut butter and jelly, and heck, Twinkies never go bad, right?”

“So I’ve been told. Any other news? It seems like I haven’t seen you in a while. You’ve been awfully busy for a guy out on disability.”

“Well, just because I can’t do my job doesn’t mean I’m sittin’ around at home gettin’ all moldy, right? I’ve been working out some, trying to get that leg stronger, and trying to get my wind back after being down for so long.”

“Can you actually run at this point?”

“Weeeeeell, the pounding isn’t so comfortable, so I’m doing some other stuff to work on my endurance without overly stressing the leg.”

“Like what?” Roy asked.

“Oh, well, Stoker had a really good idea. He’s been helping me out a lot, by the way. His idea was, push a bicycle up a really long hill, then coast down on the bike, and repeat until you can’t anymore. Looks pretty silly on the way up, but once you spend enough time in a hospital gown, you learn not to care about little things like that.”

Roy frowned. “Why don’t you just _ride_ the bike up the hill?”

“Roy, you haven’t seen the hill we’ve been using. It’s steeper than steep. So steep that Mike said he didn’t think the engine could make the turn off the one crossroad without rolling. In fact, he went so far as to call the Battalion Chief for that district to point it out.”

Roy laughed. “Did they think he was nuts?”

“No, actually, he got a call back the next day from the chief, who said they’d been trying to get the county to fix that intersection for years, and that every engineer in his district has been instructed not to try to take that turn.”

“That’s our Stoker. Mr. Conscientious.”

“I s’pose,” Johnny said. “Anyhow—what’s been up with you? And where is everyone?”

“Oh, well, it’s Tuesday, so Chris is at school. Joanne’s at a friend’s house with Jenny, but they should be back any time. So until then, I have the house all to myself.”

“Cool. Anything that needs breaking?”

“The kids usually take care of that, but thanks anyhow.”

“Or fixing? I can help with stuff again, you know. And you better ask, too, after everything you guys have done for me over the last coupla months.”

“It’s funny,” Roy said, “but it seemed like as soon as you got the cast off, you hardly needed help with anything except grocery shopping every now and then.”

“Hmm,” Johnny said noncommittally. “But seriously—let me know what I can help with.”

“How about this—the living room and dining room need painting. You think you’d be up for that after the next shift?”

“So the work party’d be Friday, right? Or Saturday, if the next shift really sucks? I don’t see why not. I mean, it’s not like I have much to do other than push bikes up a hill. Why don’t you see if some of the other guys can help, too? Many hands make light work, and the space is big enough we wouldn’t all be stepping on each other. I’m sure Stoker would help,” Johnny said.

“Yeah, but he’d want everything so perfect it’d take him forever. I mean, remember that time he was touching up that scratch that C-shift left on the side of the engine? And he was about to sand it off and re-do it for the third time, when Cap finally made him quit?”

“Ohhhhh, yeah. I forgot about that. Well, we can all gang up on him. Or make him do prep work or something. But anyhow—count me in.”

“Great—thanks. You wanna hang around for a while this afternoon? Maybe stay for dinner?”

“Gee, Roy—I’ve actually gotta be somewhere in not too long, but thanks. In fact,” Johnny said, “I probably oughta just go make sure the Rover’s gonna start after sittin’ around for so long.”

“I’ve been taking her out every week, just to keep her moving. Haven’t had any problems. Hey,” Roy said, switching gears, “we could shoot a few hoops in the driveway before you have to go.”

“Sure,” said Johnny. “Just don’t issue any challenges, and I won’t feel like I have to get crazy.”

“You’re on.”

They went out to the driveway, and took turns shooting the basketball into the hoop over the garage. Johnny tried a few layups, and was pleased to find that the landing didn’t bother him at all. But his right leg was still clearly weaker than the left one. 

“Guess I better keep workin’, huh?” Johnny said, after twenty minutes or so.

“Hey, three weeks ago today you had just gotten that cast off. So I’d say you’re looking pretty good, there, Junior.”

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep working though, does it?”

“Nope. You’re unstoppable, Gage.”

“I sure hope so, Roy. I sure hope so.” Johnny wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Anyhow, I better head out. Thanks for parking the Rover for all this time, pal. And let me know about painting, all right?”

“Sure thing.”

Johnny started the Rover without trouble, and started driving towards Mike’s house. 

~!~!~!~

_One hour later._

Mike pulled into his driveway, and was thrilled to see a white Land Rover already parked there. He opened the front door, and called out, “Hi, honey, I’m home!”

Johnny took his feet off the coffee table and went to the door to greet Mike. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah. But I’ve been waiting all afternoon to say that.” Mike tossed his shoes in the basket in the foyer. “Something smells good.”

“Why yes it does, doesn’t it?” Johnny said.

“And you’re not gonna tell me what it is,” Mike finished.

“Nope. It’s one of my dad’s recipes, so eat first and ask questions later.”

Mike stood there in the foyer, just grinning.

“What?” Johnny said.

“I came home, and you were here, and you’re making dinner in my kitchen.”

“Yup. Picked up some beers, too. Want one?”

“Yeah. I’m beat.”

Johnny rustled and clanked in the kitchen for a few minutes, and then came back to Mike in the living room with two bottles of beer. He sat down next to Mike and handed him one, and they clinked their bottles together. Mike took a long pull and set his bottle down on a coaster.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“We really have to practice being together around other people.”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah, I know. Especially the guys. I mean, I think we do all right amongst the general public. But it’s different with the guys. Because they know us, and they’re used to how we’ve always been. And not only has our relationship changed since the last time we worked together—”

“You can say that again.”

“—but I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve changed a fair amount from, I don’t know. Partly from the whole experience, but partly from being with you.”

“Me too,” Mike said. “One thing I was thinking might be a good idea, was if I played up kind of being your coach. Not that you need a coach, or anything like that, but … just as a reason why we’ve been spending time together.”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. I kind of did that with Roy, this afternoon. Told ‘im about the whole thing with pushing the bike up the hill.”

“Yeah. And at Roy’s barbecue, after Chet whisked you away, Cap mentioned that he was glad we were turning out to be friends. And the next shift, which was the first one after that really bad call, he checked in with everyone individually, and I said I’d talked to you, after. And he knows that we started hanging out a lot when you were in Rampart. I mean, I kind of had to explain to him what my freak-out was all about, and, well, he suggested that I talk to you. Dr. Pritchard probably would’ve suggested that anyhow, but by that point I’d already taken Cap’s suggestion.”

“And I’m glad you did. To be honest, that whole coupla weeks is pretty hazy, but I sure remember I was glad you were there.”

“I was glad I was there too, Johnny,” Mike said. 

“Do you think …” Johnny said, and then stopped.

“Do I think what?”

“Never mind. Not worth thinking about.”

“No, what?” Mike asked, persisting, as Johnny had learned he always would.

Johnny sighed. “All right. Do you think, if I’d never gotten hurt, or if you hadn’t, you know, had that problem after, that we would be sitting here right now?”

“Probably not,” Mike said. 

“Me neither. I mean, I’m not sayin’ I’m glad either one of those things happened. But they did. And I’m glad that we got this particular consequence out of it.”

“Me too. Me too.” He leaned his head onto Johnny’s shoulder, and Johnny put his arm around him.

**TBC**

A/N: Next up: well, Roy’s gonna have to find out about this pretty soon, ain’t he?


	17. Playing With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just a little "aside;" a PWP treat for May Month of Masturbation. (Who knew there was such a thing?) Anyhow: Happy MMOM. I swear to both of my readers that I will get back to the actual story in the next chapter!

**Chapter 17: Playing with Fire**

_Two weeks later._

The hill was actually starting to feel less steep. Johnny pushed the bike up the hill, not quite running, but not exactly walking, either. At the top, chest heaving—but less than it had two weeks ago—he looked at his watch again. Six minutes.

“Well, awright!”

He hopped on the bike, and coasted down the hill. He did the routine seven more times, until his thigh muscles were burning and shaking, and he felt like he couldn’t do it again. He put the bike in the back of the Rover, just as the sun was beginning to set, and drove home again. He wanted, so badly, to call Mike and tell him of his new record, but there were a thousand reasons why that was a bad idea. Sometimes, when the evening part of the shift wasn’t busy, Mike was able to sneak in a phone call, but that only worked when the other guys were watching a movie or something like that, where he could sneak away unnoticed. Maybe that would happen tonight, and maybe it wouldn’t.

Johnny plodded up the stairs to his apartment, and tossed a TV dinner in the oven to heat up while he finished off the day’s workout with as many pushups and situps as he could manage. He took a long, hot shower, wishing, as he always did when Mike was working, that he wasn’t by himself. 

As he toweled off, he inspected his right leg. The skin was the same shade as the skin on the other leg, and the scars had faded from bright, shiny red to a dull pink. When he looked in the mirror, he saw that there was no longer a stark difference between the musculature of his two legs. They were both as skinny as always, but the right one no longer looked weak and fragile. The muscle in the front of his lower leg—the one that had been torn through by the broken bone—was slightly smaller on the right leg, but you really had to look for that difference to see it. He experimentally walked on his heels—something that was impossible even two weeks after he got his cast off—and had no difficulty doing so at all.

Yes sir, Johnny thought, things were looking up.

Johnny put on his favorite pajamas, knowing he wasn’t going out again. The timer rang in the kitchen, and Johnny fetched his TV dinner out of the oven, setting it on a wooden cutting board on the table. He poured himself a glass of milk, peeled the foil cover off his meal, and tucked in. It was completely unsatisfying, both in quantity and quality, but mostly because he was sitting by himself at his table. He wanted to be sitting there with Mike, eating something one of them had cooked, and talking about anything at all. He wanted to have Mike _with_ him, and not possibly in a dangerous situation where things could go fatally wrong.

Worry about the well-being of another person had become a fixture in his life, one out of three days. Mike had the safest job of anyone on the engine crew—even safer than Cap, since Cap could get sent into the action by another incident commander, but as long as Engine 51 was needed, Mike would be on the pump panel. In rare situations, the engine might not be needed for supply, but that was a huge exception. But still, Johnny worried, even though he wasn’t a worrier—not like _some_ people he could think of. And he certainly thought about how hard it was going to be for Mike once Johnny got back to work, since he and Roy had the most dangerous jobs of anyone on the crew, and Mike would often have to watch.

Johnny set his glass down on the table as he suddenly realized that his experience of the last few weeks was probably somewhat like what firemen’s wives dealt with. He snorted as he realized how bizarre it would be to compare notes with Joanne on the experience someday. Someday _after_ he’d told Roy about what was going on in his life. Which was going to have to happen soon. 

He quickly finished his inadequate meal, and cleaned up. He went to the living room, and was soon engrossed in the spy novel Mike had just finished. Just as he was about to call it a day and go to bed, the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey, babe. How are you_?”

“Good—tired. I did the hill eight times. The first time was under six minutes. That’s a record.”

“ _That’s great! We’ve had a quiet day. The guys just started watching whatever action movie is on tonight, so I thought I’d duck in and give you a quick call._ ”

“Wish you were here.”

“ _I wish I was there, too. Rather get into your bed with you than lie in my bunk all by myself._ ”

“I was just about to go to bed, actually.”

“ _Yeah? You in your pajamas already?_ ”

“Uh huh.”

“ _Which ones?_ ” Mike asked.

“Uh, my favorite ones, you know?”

“ _The blue pants and the gray t-shirt?_ ”

“Yeah—why?”

“ _Just ‘cause I wanna have a mental picture._ ”

“You got it—here I am, on the couch, talkin’ to you on the phone, in my favorite PJ’s.”

“ _Got anything on underneath?_ ” Mike asked, and Johnny could hear the smile in his voice.

“Nope,” Johnny said, finally getting an inkling of where this might be going. “Bare naked.”

“ _Your blinds closed?_ ”

“Yep,” Johnny said, grinning.

“ _Good. Because I’m not really satisfied with my mental picture right now. So here’s what’s next. You with me here?_ ”

“Always, Mikey. But don’t get yourself in trouble, all right?”

“ _I’m watching the door, and I won’t do anything right here in the dorms that would be a problem if I got caught at it, if that’s what you mean._ ”

“That’s good. I will, though. In fact, I’ve got my hand down my pants right now, and I’ll tell ya, my cock is startin’ to get real interested in whatever you might have to say. Especially if it’s dirty. I love it when you start with the dirty talk.”

“ _Yeah? That’s good. For now, I think you should lay yourself back on the couch and get comfy, babe._ ”

“Oh, I’m real comfy.”

“ _Good. I think you oughta wrap your hand around that hot, gorgeous cock of yours, and give it a couple nice, firm strokes, up and down, with that little flick of the thumb you like at the end of each stroke. Yeah, babe, just like that. I can see you in my mind, and fuck, you look so hot._ ”

“Feelin’ pretty hot, too. Wish it was your hand.”

“ _Oh, but it_ is _, in my mind. So it can be in yours, too_.”

“Mmm, yeah. It sure can.”

“ _I wanna hold your balls, just weigh them in my hand for a second—they’re so hot, and heavy, aren’t they? And you know how I like to roll them—my hand is down there now, rolling your balls around, just a little rougher than I think I ought to, but not quite as rough as you really want me to—I know that._ ”

“It feels good, Mikey … don’t stop.”

“ _Oh, I won’t stop until we’re done. Well, or if we get toned out. Or if someone else comes in here. But for now—let’s feel that cock again. I bet it’s really, really hard, and long, and thick, just like always. I love pulling my hand up and down, with a little twist, a little thumb action at the top … is that nice?_ ”

Johnny’s breathing was picking up, and he could hear his own breaths in the phone. “Fuck, it really is.”

“Do you have the lights on?”

“Yeah—I know you like to see what’s goin’ on.”

“ _I can see your long fingers, your gorgeous hand, wrapped around your perfect cock. Sometimes I’m not sure what I like better—those hands, or that cock. But this is the best, because they’re together, and that’s just beautiful, babe, and so, so, hot. Are you getting hotter and hotter?_ ”

“Aaaawh … yeah, I am. Really hot.”

“ _Put the phone down, just for a second, so you can get your shirt off._ ”

“Okay.” Johnny followed Mike’s instructions, and then picked the phone up again. “I’m holding the phone with my shoulder, now, so we can have both my hands free.”

Mike chuckled. “ _You read my mind, babe. You know what I want you to do next? With your other hand?_ ”

“I think you want me to pinch at my nipples, just like this, and fuck, Mikey, that’s just filling my dick up even harder.”

“ _That’s exactly what I want you to do. I love how you’re getting all flushed—it never takes you long to get really turned on, and I love how you look right now. But you know what? I think those nipples are hogging the attention from other things. That hand, it’s reaching down now, between your legs, which are spread wide open, and it’s teasing a little bit around that hot, tight hole._ ”

“You know I love it when you do that,” Johnny said. He was starting to have a hard time managing the phone. Each breath hissed loudly into the phone, making him sound almost like he was breathing compressed air through a regulator.

“ _First thing in the morning, babe, when I get off shift, I’ll open it up and fuck you, real good, but not right now. I’m just teasing it a bit, for now, just to remind you I’ll be there in the morning to take care of you properly._ ”

“I can’t wait till then …”

“ _Oh, I’m gonna make you come, real soon, I think, to take the edge off till then. But the fucking’s gonna have to wait for the morning._ ”

“Yeah, take the edge off, Mikey! Uhhhn …”

“ _Your cock is leaking plenty, isn’t it?_ ”

“It is, you’re doing that to me …”

“ _Get your hand all slick with spit and precome, and go, babe. You look so gorgeous, and your cock is so hot and hard, and now it’s all slicked up. Does it feel good, when you work it hard and fast?_ ”

“… so good …”

“ _Faster, and harder … yeah, just like that, and don’t worry about dropping the phone. I’ll hear you just fine, when you come for me, when you spurt on your chest, and your belly, and then a little more …_ ”

Johnny lost control of the phone, and it fell to the floor as he arched and thrust his hips up, and pumped his cock faster and faster. He cried out as he came, covering his chest and abdomen with thick ropes of semen. Still arched up, legs spread, with one foot on the floor, and one on the couch, he milked out the last of his orgasm, and fumbled for the phone with his free hand.

“Fuh … holy shit, Mikey.” Johnny’s chest heaved as he panted, harder and faster than he had on his last trip up the hill that afternoon. 

“ _Mmm, that was really, really hot, hearing you come. I wish I was there, right beside you, combing your hair out of your eyes, kissing you while you come down. But I’ll be there in the morning, before you know it, all right?_ ”

“Yeah … I’ll be waitin’.” Johnny pushed his own hair out of his eyes. “Fuck, Mikey. Why was that so hot?”

Mike chuckled. “ _Cause it’s you and me, babe. And now—well, I think I better go take care of something in the stall in the bathroom real fast._ ”

“I’ll imagine everything you’re doing. And I’ll be here, waiting for you, in the morning. Love you.”

“ _Love you too. I really gotta go_.”

It was Johnny’s turn to laugh. “I bet you do. Bye.”

“ _Bye_.”

~!~!~!~

Mike put the phone down as gently as he could with his shaking hand, and dashed into the stall in the bathroom, slamming the door shut. He thanked his lucky stars that the volume on the TV was turned way up, as he yanked his fly open, and finally, _finally_ , grabbed hold of his solid cock, which was an angry red from being trapped and neglected.

He jacked himself roughly, straying over the edge of discomfort, but he didn’t really care, he _had_ to come, now now _now!_ His mental image of Johnny, lying on the couch, thoroughly debauched, carried him quickly to his own climax. He held his breath, the only thing that might keep him from being heard, and his vision grayed out on the periphery as he bit the insides of his cheeks and spurted over his hand.

He staggered back and sat down hard on the toilet, allowing himself to breathe again. He sat there for a minute, catching his breath, and cleaned up his mess.

This was probably _not_ an exercise that Dr. Pritchard would approve of.

But it was fun as all hell.

Mike flushed the toilet, just in case anyone was paying attention, and washed his hands at the sink. He sprayed a blast of air freshener from the aerosol can on the counter, just in case. He re-entered the day room just as a commercial came on, and everyone stood up to stretch.

“Where’d you disappear to?” Roy asked him.

“Had to make a phone call. What’d I miss?”

“The usual. Bad guys blew something up. The opening credits ran. Nothing to write home about.”

“Figured.”

Roy frowned at him slightly. “Hey, you okay? You look a little flushed.”

“Huh,” Mike said. “I feel perfectly fine. I am kind of tired, though, come to think of it. So I’ll probably turn in, and just skip the movie.”

“You probably won’t miss much.”

“Probably not. See ya when the tones drop.” Mike said, yawning.

**TBC**


	18. Dinner at the DeSotos'

**Chapter 18: Dinner at the DeSotos’**

The next morning, Mike let himself in to Johnny’s apartment with the extra key Johnny had been able to get from his landlord. 

“Hello?” Mike called, not seeing Johnny in the living room or dining area.

“Back here,” Johnny said. “Because if I’m remembering right from our little ‘conversation’ last night, we have some unfinished business.”

Mike kicked his shoes off and went back to the bedroom, where Johnny was in bed, in the blue and gray pajamas Mike had quizzed him about the previous night.

“Mmm. You know I can never say no to you,” Mike said, sitting down next to Johnny and kissing him soundly.

“But?”

“But, we had an MVA call at 0530, and it was really heavy work—five-car pileup, and we had to cut three of the cars up. So I’m useless until I’m fed.”

Johnny hopped up out of the bed. “Well, then, let’s get you fed. Whaddaya think about maybe some bacon, and some cereal while the bacon’s cooking?”

“Sounds great. I’ll put some coffee on.”

“What, you don’t wanna just crash?”

“Nah—there was only one bullshit call at night, until that MVA. So I’ll just get through the day and maybe crash early tonight.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, as he put a large skillet on the stove, and added as much bacon as would fit. While the bacon started to heat, he poured out two bowls of cereal, which they ate standing in the kitchen.

“God,” Mike said, spooning up some cereal. “I felt so dirty jacking off in the bathroom stall at the station last night!”

Johnny laughed. “It was your own damned fault, Stoker. You started it!”

“Yeah, I kinda did. I guess that’s probably not on Dr. Pritchard’s approved list of Ways to Prepare for Gage Getting Back to Work.”

“Ah, no.” Johnny said. “But it sure was fun, though. I didn’t actually realize you could have sex over the phone.”

“Well, we learn something new every day.”

Johnny turned the bacon, and lowered the heat on the stove.

“Shoot,” Mike said. “I knew there was something I forgot to tell you last night before we got … sidetracked.”

“What is it?” Johnny asked, frowning. “Doesn’t sound good.”

“Well, it’s just … I was looking at the shift calendar, to see when our next 4-days-off stretch was, and I noticed that this weekend is my mom’s birthday. I’ve got Saturday and Sunday off, so I probably oughta go out there on Saturday evening and spend the night. I dislike the idea on a lot of levels, but mostly because I won’t be with you.”

“Weeeeeell,” Johnny said slowly, “that might actually turn out to be convenient. ‘Cause Mike, I really gotta tell Roy about us. And honestly, I think it’ll be easier if it’s just me an’ him. So I guess maybe that’d be a good time to get that outta the way.”

Mike nodded. “Okay. I know he needs to know. But … can we do something like, have him over the next day, just so … I don’t know, so he and I don’t show up Monday morning and just look at each other weird all day, each one knowing what the other is thinking?”

“Sure. That’s a good idea. Real good. Because I’m pretty sure he’s been feeling like I’ve been avoiding him for some reason. Which I’m not—it’s just I wanna be with you when you’re not working, which just so happens to be the same times _he’s_ not working. I’ll call him later today, and see if we can’t work something like that out.”

Johnny rearranged the bacon in the skillet.

“You gonna say anything to your folks?” he asked. “It’s fine, either way.”

Mike sighed. “I’m not sure. My mom can handle it. My dad can’t. And while I’m there, I really need to make a point of getting along with my dad. For Mom’s sake, you know?”

“Sure. Well, like I said, either way is fine,” Johnny said. “And hey—I’ve got an idea for that four-day stretch coming up. You wanna go up to Sequoia? I haven’t been there in a while, and this should be a good time of year.”

“That sounds terrific, babe. You’re on.”

“Good. I kinda wanna just go, you know, and not think about working on anything. I mean, I haven’t been on the job, but I guess it’s actually been pretty stressful, working on getting better. So this can be, like, our first vacation.”

Mike grinned. “Sounds good.”

They finished their cereal while the bacon sizzled away in the skillet. Johnny drained the grease into the coffee can he kept for that purpose, and served up the bacon, while Mike poured them each some more coffee. They finished their meal, still standing in the kitchen, never straying far from each other.

“My mother would have a stroke, if she saw me eating breakfast standing up in the kitchen,” Mike said, as he set his plate in the sink.

“Well, the way I see it is, you’re just learning to loosen up a bit. But she’d definitely have a stroke if she saw us finishing our unfinished business. Which I think we oughta finish.”

“You’re on.”

~!~!~!~

Business was taken care of, more than adequately. Despite his intentions to stay awake for the day, Mike fell fast asleep, and Johnny decided to just let him rest for a while. If he could conk out after three cups of coffee, he probably needed the sleep. 

Johnny was in the kitchen drying the breakfast dishes when the phone rang. He put the dishtowel over his shoulder and picked up the phone in the living room.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey, partner! How you doing?_ ”

“Oh, not bad at all, Roy! There’s nothing I can’t do anymore around the house and such, and I’m up to about half running in my usual six-mile loop. I’m really, really starting to see the light at the end of this tunnel.”

“ _That’s terrific! Do you know when you’re gonna try to requalify?_ ”

“The next open testing is in five weeks. I’m gonna do it then. It won’t have been as long a recovery period as the docs said, but I’m feeling pretty good.”

“ _You’ll be ready,_ ” Roy said. “ _I know you will._ ”

“You know what? I know I will too.”

“ _Anyhow—I was calling because A-shift has four days off in a week and a half. Joanne’s going to visit her cousin down in San Diego, but I’m gonna take the kids for a really tame camp-out, and we were all three wondering if you would come._ ”

“Aw, man—Roy, I’d really love to, and I feel bad letting the kids down, but I already have plans for those days. But how about this—I don’t have anything going on this Saturday, and A-shift has off that day. How about if we all do something then? I mean, unless you have other plans. Cause I haven’t seen the kids since that barbecue at your place, and that was over a month ago.”

“ _Boy, you’re still keeping track of the shift calendar, even though you’re not working it? Now that’s either dedication, or a serious habit. But yeah—why don’t you come over for dinner on Saturday? I’m sure Joanne won’t mind, and the kids’ll be thrilled._ ”

“Sounds great—I’ll bring ice cream.”

“ _Terrific. See you then,_ ” Roy said.

“Yep. Bye.”

~!~!~!~

_Saturday, at the DeSotos’ house._

Johnny and Roy were at the sink, washing and rinsing dishes after a terrific afternoon and dinner. It had been the first time Johnny had hung out with the DeSotos for two entire months, and everyone had a good time. 

Johnny had been thinking all day about how best to approach Roy with the news he needed to share, but it seemed like an opportunity was presenting itself. “So I can’t help but notice that Joanne has made herself scarce, which usually means you’ve got something on your mind and she knows it. Anything wrong?”

Roy dried a glass and put it in the cabinet. “I’m not sure, Johnny. I don’t _think_ anything’s wrong, but I guess I don’t really understand what’s been going on lately.”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah. I know ya don’t. My fault.”

“I mean, you don’t seem unhappy or anything. A couple months ago, when you started turning down invitations left and right, I was getting worried that you were, I don’t know, really depressed or something. Like maybe that once you got the cast off, and saw how much healing you still had to do, you couldn’t deal with it? I don’t know. I started noticing, though, that you seemed happier than I’ve ever known you to be—which I really didn’t get. But it’s like you’ve disappeared off the face of the earth. I only ever see you when we meet up for breakfast after I get off a shift, once a week or so. I mean, not that you should plan your life around the A-shift schedule these days, but it just seems like whenever I’m free, you’re busy. This is the first time Joanne and the kids have seen you in over a month! I mean, you don’t owe us anything, but to be honest, we miss you— _I_ miss you—and I’m mystified about what’s going on. And we’re all just hoping everything’s okay.”

“Yeah. I …” Johnny looked out the window into the yard, which was becoming invisible as night fell. “I know. I’m sorry. And honest, everything’s great. But I do owe you an explanation.” 

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Roy said.

“Let’s finish the dishes, and then I think we should go … I don’t know. Sit in the car, or something. Because I want— _need_ —to tell you what’s going on with me. It’s a good thing—a _terrific_ thing—but it’s something that absolutely nobody else can know. And I mean it.”

Roy put another glass away.

“You know, when you’re married, it doesn’t exactly work that way. Plus, to be honest, Joanne is wondering if everything’s okay with you too. I keep telling her you’re fine, ridiculously fine, in fact, and she believed me, for a while. But now she’s wondering as much as I am. If it’s top secret, though, maybe you just shouldn’t tell me. Unless it’s something you need help with, or something like that.” Roy sighed, and looked Johnny in the eye. “I don’t know what I’m saying—I guess it’s just that Joanne and I don’t keep secrets from each other, unless it would really harm someone else if we didn’t.”

“I know. And what we—what I think about that is, it’ll be up to you whether you want to say anything to Joanne. But the thing is, outside of you two, _nobody_ can know, and I’m really serious about this, Roy. It’s nothing illegal, or anything like that, but people could get in trouble if the wrong people found out about this.”

Roy put his towel down. “You’re really mixing me up here. You say it’s a good thing, but that it has to be kept a secret, or people will get in trouble?”

“ _Could_ get in trouble. Look—maybe we should finish these later,” Johnny said, letting the water out of the sink.

“I’m inclined to agree with you on that, Junior. C’mon, let’s go out to the garage.”

“That’s good.”

“I’m just gonna go tell Joanne we’re going out there.”

“All right.”

Johnny dried his hands on the kitchen towel, and stood in the kitchen, hands in pockets, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say. Roy returned a minute later, and they headed silently out the door and through the covered breezeway to the garage. Roy perched on the hood of his small sports car, and motioned to Johnny to take a seat on the workbench.

“I don’t think there’s any way to say this other than to just say it. I’ve been seeing someone—someone you know—and it’s really serious.”

Roy felt like his brain suddenly froze, and then thawed just as quickly as possibilities began rushing through his head. But one obvious winner presented itself quickly.

“And it’s not a woman,” Roy finished for Johnny.

“It’s not a woman,” Johnny agreed. “And when I tell you who it is, you’ll understand why this has to be kept completely private. He and I both wanted you to know, when it was time, which it obviously is. I think Joanne will understand too, why nobody—and I mean _nobody_ —can know about this.”

“All right. But before you tell me anything, think about this: would it maybe be better if I _didn’t_ know?”

Johnny shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. But if you’d rather _not_ know, that’s okay too. Awkward, but okay. And actually, I really kind of _need_ you to know, as long as you can understand that it’s serious, and we’re happy, and I’m not ignoring you and your family on purpose. It’s just that … my attention is being held pretty undividedly by one person.”

Roy smiled. “I understand that feeling. And I’m glad you’ve found someone to share it with. If you’re sure it’s okay with him, then I’d like to know. And Joanne will feel the same way.”

Johnny nodded. “All right. No more suspense, then. Hold on to that hood ornament, pal, ‘cause here comes a bombshell. It’s Mike Stoker.”

Roy blinked a few times. “ _Our_ Mike Stoker?”

Johnny grinned and shook his head. “Nope. _My_ Mike Stoker. I’m not sharing. But yeah. One and the same.”

Roy just sat there on the hood of his car and gaped.

“I tried to think of a way to not make this a bombshell, but there’s really no way, is there?” Johnny said, finally.

“Nope. I can think of worse ways to do it, but I don’t think there are any better ones.”

“Probably not.”

“I mean, it’s a double bombshell, because I had no idea— _none_ —that Mike liked guys.”

“Neither did I. But he does. Exclusively.”

“Wow.” Roy processed for a few seconds, but couldn’t resist asking for details. “So, am I allowed to ask how the hell this happened? I mean, I knew you guys had been spending a lot of time together after his burnout or whatever it was, while you were still in the hospital, but … holy crap, Johnny. I mean, did you just come right out and tell him that—no, you wouldn’t do that. Or did he—no, that’s even more ridiculous. Okay, I admit it—I’m stumped.”

“Can’t blame you there. You see, one day—right after I got my cast off—when Mike and I went to the beach, like we’d been doing, I kind of got outed, accidentally, by a guy I, uh, went out with a couple times, who misunderstood when he saw Mike and me together, and said something completely, um, unambiguous about how we knew each other. I thought after that, Mike would never want to speak to me ever again, but boy, was I wrong.” Johnny crossed his arms, and smirked slightly.

“So your cat got let out of the bag, so to speak, and … what, he just came out to you?”

“Kind of. I’d say it was his way of really proving to me that it was okay. But he didn’t just say, ‘Hey, Gage—guess what?’ He was … subtle. Understated. Refined.” Johnny produced his trademark lopsided grin. “Very _him_.”

“And then … you just jumped into the sack, and the rest is history?”

Johnny’s grin instantly flipped upside down into a scowl. “Gimme a break, Roy. It wasn’t like that at all. Straight people always think that as soon as two people discover they’re both gay, or whatever, they instantly go at it. That’s no more true than if, I don’t know, you suddenly get a new co-worker of the opposite sex, and you automatically go at it.”

“Sorry,” Roy said. “I didn’t really mean it that way, but I guess that’s how it came out. But seriously—it seems like that could’ve been a really awkward situation. I kind of imagine him clamming up completely, like he does when someone asks him something personal, and you running off at the mouth so bad you start foaming.”

“Well, once again, you missed the mark. I don’t know how much one-on-one time you’ve spent with Mike, but he’s not a clam in private, when conversation topics suit him, at least. I mean, when it’s just one person, he talks a lot more. It probably didn’t hurt that when we first started hanging out outside of work, it was when I was on a lotta drugs at Rampart, and I couldn’t put a sentence together. So he didn’t have a choice but to hold both ends of the conversation up.”

“You guys just seem like total opposites.”

“Well, that’s just because you don’t know him. We’re alike about the things that count. What we really care about. How we live our lives. I started understanding that as soon as he and I started hanging out, after my accident. We started to really get to know each other. But there was this huge hole—he’d shut me down any time I got too close to his personal life. I never understood why—and to be honest, I didn’t really think about it all that much, because that’s what I’d known from him for the past four years. Then that day at the beach, it all fell into place.”

“Huh.” Roy considered what Johnny just said. “I wonder—do you think maybe he’s so quiet because he doesn’t want to draw suspicion?”

Johnny shook his head. “I don’t _think_ , Roy—I _know_. Up until not quite a year ago, the whole time we’ve all been at 51s together, his boyfriend—well, now his ex—was living with him. So what the hell was he _supposed_ to say about his home life? Nothing, is what.”

Roy sighed. “I guess I still just don’t get it. I mean, how do you go from being good friends, to … dating? If that’s even what it’s called anymore.”

“See, there’s your straight-guy mindset again. Me and Mike had the advantage, I guess you could say, of getting to know each other and getting to be good friends before the idea of anything more even remotely occurred to either of us. I mean, maybe you actually _can_ see that part, since after all you and Joanne knew each other when you were little kids.”

Roy nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess so. You don’t think about settling down with someone when you’re both in fourth grade.”

“See?”

“But …” Roy’s face was all screwed up like he was trying to do a really hard math problem in his head.

“Just _ask_ , Roy. Whatever you want to know, if it’ll help make this easier on your head, just ask. I’ll tell you if it’s too personal.”

“All right. I guess the thing that I really want to know, is … uh, don’t answer if it’s too personal, okay, but what I’m really still not understanding, still, is how you got past the awkwardness of finding out each other’s biggest secret, and then … one of you asking the other out on a date. If that’s even how it worked. And I feel dumb asking, but if I don’t know, then I’ll just start wondering, and coming up with ridiculous scenarios, so it’s better just to ask. Who asked who? Whom?”

“Ah. Good question. And I even have a good answer for you.” 

“That’s a relief,” Roy said. 

“So what happened was, it didn’t really occur to either one of us at first, for some reason. But then I started thinking about who I could set him up with—you know, I always have a Plan, with a capital ‘P.’ And every guy I came up with, I found myself thinking stuff like ‘Nah, he wouldn’t really get this or that or the other thing about Mike.’ Or ‘he’s not good enough for my buddy Mike.’ Or ‘I wouldn’t trust him not to be a dick with my friend.’ All morning I was thinking stuff like that. But then I realized there was one name on my mental list of half-decent guys who I know like guys that I hadn’t considered. John Gage.”

“So you asked him out.”

“Yep. As soon as the idea popped into my head, I couldn’t get rid of it.”

“And he said yes.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I take it the first date wasn’t a disaster?”

“You take it right. It was … it was great, Roy.”

Roy frowned again. “How do you even _have_ a first date with someone you’ve known for years?”

“We worked it out. I guess you could say … once the closet doors were opened, all the rest of them came unlatched too. He’s …” Johnny looked off into space for a minute, smiling. “Roy, he’s really something.”

Roy’s serious expression softened a bit. “I guess so.”

“And I _don’t_ just mean between the sheets, either, but let me tell you—”

Roy covered his eyes with one hand, and held the other hand out like a traffic cop. “ _Stop_! Just stop right there, Johnny.”

Johnny laughed. “Don’t worry—I was just trying to get a reaction from you.”

Roy scowled at him. “Well, it worked.”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“So I see.” Roy cleared his throat. “One thing, though.”

“Sock it to me.”

“What happens when you come back to work?”

“We keep our hands to ourselves, our eyes where they belong, and talk about sports and work with the guys. Just like before.” _And it’s gonna be really, really hard_ , Johnny thought.

Roy’s eyebrows climbed. “Just like before, huh?”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah. We know. It’s gonna be weird.”

“Johnny, it’s gonna be more than weird, and you know that.”

“Yeah, we know.”

“I mean, have you even considered the possibility that it might not be safe for you to be working together?”

“Whaddaya mean, not _safe_? You mean, like slipping up, and people figuring us out?”

“That too, I suppose. But what I really meant, was have you thought about the possibility of one of you doing something to protect or help the other, that ends up jeopardizing the safety of yourself, other guys on the crew, or civilians.”

Johnny looked at the floor, and didn’t say anything.

Roy crossed his arms. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ then.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ve thought about that.”

“And?”

Johnny scowled. “Lemme tell you something. If Mike were to get hurt on the job, you know who I’d want taking care of him? _Me_ , that’s who. Or you. That’d probably be better, actually. And when I go into a building that’s on fire, which is a pretty stupid thing to do anyhow, you know who I want in charge of the water supply? _Him_ , that’s who.”

“I can understand that,” Roy said mildly. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what _are_ you talking about?”

Roy thought for a second, and then responded. “Picture this: structure fire, three-story home, with known entrapment. Station 51 is first on scene. You and I are doing search and rescue. Chet and Marco are on an attack line. Cap’s in charge, and Mike’s on the pump panel. Sound familiar?”

“Course it does.”

“Mike’s watching from the pump panel as a third-floor room at the front of the house flashes over. Somebody in turnout gear bails out the window. One that’s not laddered. They’re hanging there, an arm and a leg on the inside of the window frame, trying to decide whether to wait for a ladder and get a mighty hot arm and leg, or go for the long drop and see what happens. Oh, and on the back of the coat, it says ‘Gage.’ What does Mike do?”

Johnny glared at Roy. “He does his _job_ , Roy. He makes sure the attack lines have the pressure they need.”

“Does he? Or is his attention distracted for just long enough that something goes wrong and he can’t fix it?”

“Now that’s not fair, Roy!”

“Or how about this one,” Roy continued, before Johnny could protest further. “Three-alarm fire. Cap and Mike get sent interior by incident command. Maybe search and rescue, maybe interior attack. You and I are each treating a critical victim in the triage area. We hear the Mayday being called on the HT. It’s Cap—Mike just fell through the floor. What do you do?”

“I wouldn’t abandon my patient. You know that.”

“I do. But would your work be at its best? Or would your attention be divided?”

Johnny opened his mouth to throw a retort at Roy, and closed it again. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

“And how about this? A couple minutes later, Cap and Chet and Marco pull Mike out. He’s not critical, but he’s hurting. Bad. He’s screaming—maybe even screaming for _you_ —at the top of his lungs. What do—”

“Stop it, Roy! Just _stop_! I get your point, all right?” Johnny’s fingers were clenched around the edge of the workbench he was sitting on. 

“ _Do_ you? Do you _really_ get my point?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you get my point well enough that you’re going to _do_ anything about it? Or are you gonna just show up in a couple weeks, bright and cheery, for your first day back at work with your secret boyfriend at Station 51, and pretend like nothing’s any different than it ever was?”

“Well, let me make a point to _you_ , pal.” Johnny’s chest was heaving, and his face was red.

Roy waited for several breaths.

“Go ahead,” Roy said cautiously.

Johnny let go of the edge of the workbench. “You’re right.”

Roy almost fell off the hood of the car.

“I’m _what_?”

Johnny rubbed his hands to get the circulation going again. “I said, you’re right. It’s not a good choice for us to be working together.”

Roy nodded. “It’s not.”

“But Roy? It’s a _worse_ choice for us _not_ to be working together, at this point. Look, me and Mikey went through all this a hundred times already, and came to the same conclusion every time. Let’s say one of us takes a transfer. Fine, we’re not working together. But we’re both still doing this crazy dangerous job, and if we’re not on the same shift, we’re sittin’ at home waitin’ for something bad to happen to the other guy, plus we’d never see each other. Even worse, if we _are_ on the same shift, but not on the same crew, we’re distracted on the job by thinking about something that’s probably not even happening.”

Roy fiddled with the hood ornament, but didn’t say anything, so Johnny continued.

“And another thing: if something bad did happen, we’d both want to be there. Ya know? And to hell with what people figured out, then.”

“Okay,” Roy said.

“What does _that_ mean?” Johnny asked.

“It means,” Roy said slowly, “that there’s no possible way I can put myself in your shoes. So I’m just going to have to trust that you and Mike are making the right decisions for yourselves.”

“Oh,” Johnny said. 

“So I’ll say it again: okay.”

“Thanks, Roy.”

“And one more thing,” Roy said, as he slid down from the hood of his car.

“What’s that?”

“I’m really happy for you. Both of you.”

“Yeah?” Johnny said, finally smiling a little.

“Yeah. And thanks for telling me.”

“Thanks for listening. And not being weird about the guy thing.”

“You know I don’t have a problem with that. And neither does Joanne. But I gotta tell you—it’s been pretty clear that Mike’s gotten involved with someone, and of course he wasn’t saying anything, but it was obvious nonetheless. And it’s kind of breaking my brain to realize that it’s been you, all along, who’s got him on Cloud Nine.”

Johnny grinned at Roy. “Cloud Nine, huh?”

“He’s gotten a lot better in the past couple weeks—well, except for this one time that …”

“That what, Roy?” Johnny asked.

“Hmm. Earlier this week, actually, we were all watching a movie, and Mike disappeared. Then when he came back, he was kind of … off.”

Johnny crossed his arms and looked at Roy smugly. “Yeah, not gonna fill you in on that one, pal. Sorry.”

“Forget I mentioned it,” Roy said dryly. “Come on, let’s go back in.”

“Gotta finish those dishes,” Johnny said.

“We sure do. So how’d you two tear yourselves away from each other tonight?” Roy said as they crossed through the breezeway again.

“Aw, it’s his mom’s birthday. His folks live out in Palm Springs, so he’s staying there tonight.” Johnny said. They went into the kitchen, and Johnny filled the sink again.

“Do they know, um …”

“Oh, they know he’s gay, all right. And they’re plenty unhappy with his ‘lifestyle choices.’ As if it’s either a lifestyle, or a choice. He and his dad hardly talk at all. His mom’s better. They don’t know about me, specifically, but Mike was going to tell them tonight, maybe. They won’t be happy. Apparently they were hoping, after his ex dumped him, that he’d change his misguided ways.”

“That’s what my aunt and uncle keep hoping about my cousin. Doesn’t work that way.”

“Nope.” Johnny passed Roy a dish.

“You’re pretty happy,” Roy said. “I can see that, now that I know what the heck I’m looking at.”

“Scares the shit outta me,” Johnny said quietly, not looking at Roy.

“You know what that means?” Roy said, smiling.

“What?”

“It means you’re in love.”

Johnny passed Roy another soapy dish. “I guess I kind of knew that. It’s like …”

“Like what?” Roy asked, after an appropriate pause.

Johnny shook his head. “This is ridiculous. We’re talking like girls.”

“No we’re not. We’re talking like really good friends, about something serious, that we’ve never really had occasion to talk about before. That’s all.”

“Yeah. Okay. So, what it’s like, is, one minute I’m on the top of the world, and then the next minute, I’m saying ‘oh shit oh shit oh shit.’”

“Ups and downs, huh?”

Johnny shook his head. “More like ups and ‘oh shits.’ No downs. None at all.”

**TBC**


	19. Chez Stoker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse behind the scenes.

**Chez Stoker**

_The same evening; Palm Springs_

“Chuck, don’t even bother trying to light that foul thing in here. You know I’m just going to shoo you and your cigar outside anyhow, so just go gracefully for once.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chuck Stoker said to his wife. “Chased out of my own house,” he said to Mike, winking on his way past. He pecked his wife on the cheek as he left the room, to take the sting out of the words Mike knew his father had spoken hundreds, if not thousands, of times in his nearly fifty-year marriage.

Mike didn’t say anything as his father went to the back porch.

“Well, that’s your father out of the way for a little while,” Janet Stoker said to her son. “So tell me, Michael: who’s the new boyfriend?”

Mike smiled slightly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Yes indeed.”

“Thanks for asking. Thanks for noticing. We’re really happy.”

“‘We’ being you and …”

Mike sighed. “Look. I really wanted to tell you about him tonight. I was thinking about telling both of you, but … I’m trying not to stir things up with Dad.”

“I noticed. You two did a good job getting along today, by the way. I noticed the good effort on both your parts, and I really appreciated it. But I would really like to hear about him. Now spill it, Michael.”

“I’m going to. But Mom? You can’t tell _anyone_. Seriously.”

“Ah. Does that mean it’s another fireman? _That’s_ interesting.”

Mike blushed. 

“Yeah. It’s … he’s a guy from my shift, actually. John Gage.”

Janet’s eyebrows climbed away from her startlingly blue eyes. “Really? Isn’t he the one who’s constantly chasing the nurses? Oh—I see. Cover.”

Mike shook his head. “Not cover. As he puts it, his door swings both ways. Which I had no idea about until a couple months ago.”

Janet frowned.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Mom. Why would I hook up with a skirt-chasing guy who’s on my own shift? Am I _looking_ for heartbreak? What in the world are we going to do when he gets back to work?”

“Those questions did come to mind, but you’re a mature adult, and I would imagine you’ve thought about the same questions.”

“Yeah. I have. For the first one: he was lonely. Sure, he’d go out on a date with any girl who’d say yes to him. But he almost always got dumped. And yeah, he went out with guys, too, but he never tried for anything serious. And before you say anything about that, yeah, we might want different things out of this, but a wise man pointed out to me that different needs in a relationship happen with straight couples, too. And no, I’m not looking for heartbreak, though just like in any relationship, it sometimes happens. And we really don’t know how it’s going to go when he gets back to work. Which won’t be long, now.”

“You told me several months ago about his accident. It sounded terrible.”

Mike shuddered. “Yeah. He’s been out of the cast for a month or so, and he’s doing really well. In fact, I think I’ve gotten in better shape from tagging along with him while he’s shaping up. And he’s tough—really tough. So my money’s on him making it back in the next month or so.”

“And then?”

Mike shook his head. “We decided already that it would be harder not to work together than to work together. Maybe we’ll be wrong. We don’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter for now, does it? You seem really happy, for the first time since … I don’t know. Probably two or three years ago, is my guess.”

“Yeah, Mom. I’m really, really happy. He obviously understands my job, and what the schedule’s like, and the horrendous kinds of things I run into. But he understands _me_ , too.”

“Do you understand _him_?”

“I’m starting to, yeah. More to the point, he’s _letting_ me. He’s never done that before. I wish …”

“You wish what, Michael?”

“I wish you could meet him.”

Janet looked thoughtful for a moment. “Then I should. I _will_ meet him. I’d love to. So how about that? Your father won’t come, but that’s his problem. I’ll come over—whenever you say.”

Mike stared at his mother. “What will you say to Dad?”

“I’ll tell him I’m going to visit you, and to meet your new boyfriend.”

“Uh, won’t he be mad?”

Peals of laughter filled the den.

“He can be as mad as he wants, but he’ll be wishing I was back an hour after I leave.”

“We’d—I’d love to have you come over. The guest room’s in pretty good shape these days, if you’d stay at my place.”

Janet looked her son in the eye. “Is he living with you? You did say ‘we,’ just now.”

“Um. Not exactly. We split our time between our two places. He lives a mile from the station, so that works out well. But yeah, we’re pretty much together all the time, except when I’m at work. Or here. Tonight’ll be … shoot, you don’t want to hear about that.”

“It’ll be the first night you haven’t spent together since the first night you spent together?”

Mike blushed. “Yeah. I mean, except for when I’m at work.”

“Do you love him?”

“I sure do, Mom. And I tell him every chance I get.”

“Does he love you?”

“Yeah, I honestly think he does. And he tells me, too. And he shows me.” Mike looked up. “Mom, we’re really happy. _I’m_ really happy. And lucky. It was a total accident we even found out we might be … compatible.”

Janet smiled. “I was wondering about that, actually. I was supposing you didn’t just go up to him and say, ‘By the way, Gage, did you know I’m gay as a maypole?’” Her imitation of Mike’s dry tone was impeccable.

Mike laughed. “Jesus, Mom. No, that’s definitely _not_ how it happened.” He told the Gary story, and Johnny’s threat of setting him up with guys from his (as Mike later learned, nonexistent) little black book.

Mike and his mother talked for a while longer about Johnny. Mike never felt so comfortable talking with his mother about the topic of his personal life as he did that night. 

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. And Happy Birthday.”

“You’re welcome. And it has been. It’s been a very happy birthday.”

“I’ll call next week, in the morning, when Dad’s out golfing, and we can set up a time for you to come out. Are you okay driving that far?”

“As long as its daytime, and not raining, yes.”

“Okay. But Mom? Don’t let coming out to see me and meet Johnny make any problems with you and Dad, okay? I mean, I’m trying today, I’m really trying. And he’s trying too. I just don’t want to be the cause of any—” 

“Hold it right there, Michael. First of all, I consider any rift between you and your father to be mainly his fault. Second of all, despite being married to him for forty-five years, I’m still my own person, and he knows that. And third of all, I’m sorry I haven’t stuck up for you as much as I should have. But that’s going to change. And one last thing,” Janet said, observing as Mike’s jaw dropped further and further. “If I stay at your house, you have to promise that Johnny will stay too. If he’s not comfortable with that, then I’ll book a hotel. And that’s final.”

“But—but—you never stayed at my house when …”

Janet sighed. “Michael, I’m not sure whether you really knew this or not, but I didn’t really like Larry.”

Mike returned the sigh. “I knew. I just … wasn’t sure if it was him, specifically, or … the fact that I was living with a man.”

“It was him. It took me a while to realize that, but it was him.”

“Yeah. I guess … I don’t know. It’s all twenty-twenty hindsight, of course, but in retrospect I’m not sure we were well suited. In fact, I’m _sure_ we weren’t. We loved each other—at least at first—but …”

“Sometimes that’s not enough,” Janet finished for him.

“Right. And actually, by the end, we didn’t even really _like_ each other all that much. But Johnny—Mom, Johnny and I … we’re really suited. You’ll see. I think he’ll probably be able to act normally around you after a little while. He’ll be nervous at first, but not for too long.”

“I look forward to meeting him. And seeing my boy happy.”

Mike blushed again. “Mom, I’m thirty years old.”

“You’re still my littlest, though.”

“Geez, Mom. Should I go ride my tricycle for a while, and play with my Matchbox fire trucks before bedtime?”

“Sure. Be in by nine, though.”

Mike and his mother were laughing when Chuck returned to the den, smelling of cigar smoke.

“Sounds like I missed something interesting,” Mike’s father said.

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Uh …”

“Michael was telling me about his new boyfriend. He sounds lovely. I’m going out there soon to visit,” Janet said matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” Chuck said. He flicked his eyes over towards his son briefly, then looked away.

Mike waited to see what his father might say next.

Chuck didn’t say anything. He sat down in his favorite chair, and picked up a magazine.

“I’m going to bed,” Mike said. 

From upstairs, he heard his parents arguing. And just like when he was younger, he knew perfectly well that it was about him. Because he was the only thing his parents ever really argued about.

The porch door slammed, and his father’s car started noisily.

Mike decided to get an early start in the morning.

**TBC**

  
  



	20. Shaping Up, Shipping Out

**Chapter 20: Shaping Up, Shipping Out**

Mike woke early, in the guest room in his parent’s home, and recalled his father’s resounding silence the night before, followed by his parents’ argument and his father’s abrupt departure after Mike had gone upstairs. Mike had been awakened around midnight by the garage door opening and closing again, so at least his father hadn’t stayed out all night in a snit.

Mike wasn’t sure whether he should try to leave the house before his father was up, or whether he should play nicely and pretend like his father hadn’t slammed a metaphorical door in his face the previous evening. It was a lose-lose situation. If he left without saying anything to his father, it would be another slammed door—possibly an even louder slam than the one the porch door had produced last night when his father left in a huff. But if he played nice, and pretended nothing had happened last night when his mother had mentioned Mike’s new boyfriend, he and his father would be doing the same dance they’d always done. Neither was a good solution. But leaving without saying anything to his parents would be carrying on the passive-aggressive bullshit his father was famous for, so Mike threw that option out the window.

He showered quickly, shaved, and packed his things away. He stripped the bed, and took the laundry into the utility room. He found the coffee-making supplies in the kitchen, and started a pot. He looked in the refrigerator, and frowned. There wasn’t really much in the way of breakfast food.

Mike pulled out the ingredients for pancakes, and started whipping up a batch. It couldn’t hurt. His father liked pancakes, and his mother would be pleased that someone else in the house took some initiative, for a change.

Ten minutes later, the first batch of pancakes came off the griddle, and Mike put them on a foil-covered platter in a cool oven. As he poured batter onto the griddle for the next batch, he jumped at the sound of the kitchen door opening.

“Janet? Pancakes smell great!” Chuck Stoker shouted from the side door.

“It’s me, Dad,” Mike said.

Chuck stopped short in the kitchen, and put the Sunday paper he’d just been out to buy on the counter. Mike imagined that he could feel his father’s gaze on him, and that Chuck must be wondering, for the millionth time, how he could have sired a son who looked so much like him, but was his opposite in so many ways.

They stood there, the kitchen counter and a decade of strife separating them, and looked at each other warily.

Chuck sat at the counter and picked his paper up again, opening up the front section.

Mike sighed audibly, and returned his attention to the pancakes on the griddle. As he flipped the pancakes, he heard the paper rustle for longer than it would take to turn a page. He turned around, and saw his father sitting, paper folded, looking at him again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand,” Chuck said.

“I don’t expect you will,” Mike replied.

“I just don’t understand why you’ve chosen such a difficult life for yourself.”

Mike sighed, inaudibly this time, as he thought about how he could possibly reply to the same old statement. He lifted a pancake with the spatula and peered under it, and slid the batch onto the platter in the oven. He poured a final batch onto the griddle, and turned his attention back to Chuck.

“For the millionth time, Dad—it’s not a choice I made. It’s also not anything you or Mom did, or didn’t do. I was born this way. I knew when I was little that I was different—I just didn’t understand what the difference was until much later. So stop _blaming_ me. Stop blaming anyone, for that matter. Even if you can’t understand, at least try to accept that it’s not a choice.”

“But couldn’t you have—” Chuck cut himself off and frowned at his folded paper, his shield that, for the moment, was down.

“Couldn’t I have _what_ , Dad?”

“I don’t know. Just … found some nice girl, and settled down, somehow? Couldn’t you have _tried_ to make a normal life for yourself?”

Mike flipped the pancakes, and turned the burners off.

“Let me put it this way, Dad. Could you fake it, with a man? If someone told you that was the normal thing?”

Chuck’s frown deepened. “Of course not. But it’s _not_ the normal thing, so that’s a moot point.”

“It’s a thought experiment, Dad. Just _think_ about it. Because that’s what you’re suggesting I do—live a sham life.”

“Hmph,” Chuck uttered. But he didn’t try a counterargument, so Mike continued.

“And another thing—how would that be fair to my wife, that ‘nice girl’ you mentioned? Sure, I could be her best friend, and who knows, maybe we’d even manage to have a kid. To keep up the sham. I know people who’ve done it. Heck, I know a guy who’s so set on being ‘normal’ that he’s been married—and divorced—twice. No kids, though. Maybe he couldn’t fake it _that_ much,” Mike said, as he put the last batch of pancakes on the platter in the oven.

“I guess,” Chuck said slowly, “if some guy like that married your sister, I’d be pretty pissed.”

“Exactly,” Mike said. “Anyhow—I really did my best, this weekend, not to set you off. But I exist, and I am who I am. I don’t expect you to ever understand me. But at least try to accept the fact that my being gay isn’t a choice. And that for me to try to fake a life that you consider normal wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.”

“Okay,” Chuck said, after a lengthy pause. “I can accept that.”

“Good,” Mike said.

“But it _is_ a choice that you … take up with men. You could choose _not_ to do that.”

“Well, that’s true. I could choose to please society, and please you, by locking myself up in the closet, and living an unhappy, lonely, monkish life. But I’ve chosen _not_ to be miserable. So I’m sorry if that choice bothers you.”

“Hmph,” Chuck said again.

Mike warmed some syrup in his parents’ new microwave oven.

“I’m not sure if I trust that thing,” Chuck remarked, changing the subject.

“Oh, they’re no more dangerous than any other appliance—you just have to know what you can and can’t do,” Mike said. “I certainly don’t trust them in the wrong hands. We had a nasty kitchen fire caused by a microwave a couple weeks ago. A teenager didn’t realize that aluminum foil was metal, just like any other metal, and put some foil-wrapped leftovers in and went to the basement with his band. They were lucky a neighbor saw smoke and called right away, because the only way out of the basement was through the kitchen.”

Chuck let out a low whistle. “I guess they’re the wave of the future, though. You got one yet? You seem to know your way around this one.”

“Johnny’s got the same model,” Mike said, choosing not to state the obvious fact that it’s not that hard to know your way around a single dial. “Bunch of us got it for him after he got out of the hospital a couple months ago. He couldn’t do much in the kitchen at that point.”

“He’s your, uh …”

“He’s my boyfriend. Yes.”

Chuck nodded. “Got it.” He looked at his newspaper, but didn’t pick it up.

 _It was a start_ , Mike thought.

~!~!~!

Mike and his parents had a civilized breakfast, and as soon as the dishes were done, Mike hit the road. He immediately stopped at a payphone, to see if Johnny was home.

“’ _lo._ ”

“Hey, babe. How are you?”

“ _Hey Mikey. I’m good. You’re not back already, are you?_ ”

“Nope—just left my folks’ house. I was just calling to see if you were home, since I’ll be back earlier than I thought.”

“ _Oh—yeah, I’m here. Everything okay on your end?_ ”

“Mostly. I mean, better than I expected, actually. I’ll explain when I get there. And did you spill the beans to Roy?”

“ _Uh huh. I’ll explain that when you get here, too. Should be an interesting afternoon of explaining. Oh—and Roy’s coming over tonight, like we talked about. Just for coffee. You know, so it won’t be as weird for you and him tomorrow on the job._ ”

“Okay,” Mike said. “I’ll be there in like two hours. You want me to pick anything up?”

“ _Nah, I’m going grocery shopping in a minute. I kind of enjoy it, actually, now that I can do it all on my own again._ ”

“Well, hang onto that feeling while it lasts. I should be at your place by eleven.”

“’ _kay. See ya then._ ”

By eleven, Mike was sick of driving. He’d thought, during the whole trip, about his discussion with his father in the kitchen. It was the first time he and his father had discussed the topic of Mike’s life without either one of them raising his voice, storming out of the room, or ending with stony silence. It really was a start. His father’s realization that he wouldn’t want his daughter to marry a gay man who’d decided to play it straight was probably key, Mike decided. So maybe, just maybe, he and his father were getting closer to some kind of understanding that might allow them to have a more comfortable—or at least less uncomfortable—relationship.

Mike pulled into the parking lot at Johnny’s apartment building, and bounced up the two flights of stairs to the third floor outdoor balcony. He let himself in, and could hear the water running in the bathroom, so he stopped in the kitchen and got himself a glass of water and waited for Johnny to come out. He heard the bathroom door open.

“Hey, babe,” he said, hoping not to startle Johnny.

“Hiya,” Johnny said. He went right up to Mike and kissed him—a brief peck on the lips.

Mike grabbed Johnny as he was backing away from his quick peck. “What the hell was _that_? Come back here, and let’s do this properly.”

“Yes, sir!” Johnny said, laughing as Mike pulled him back.

A good minute later, they parted.

“That’s better,” Mike said.

“Mmm,” Johnny agreed. “Yeah.”

“Missed you,” Mike said. “It was way different from when I’m at work.”

“Hmm,” Johnny said, nuzzling into Mike’s neck. “How much?”

“How much what? How different?” Mike asked, arching his head back to give Johnny better access.

“How much did you miss me?” Johnny said.

Mike chuckled, and took the invitation he’d been given, pulling Johnny in closer from around his waist. “A whole lot,” he said.

Johnny reached in between them and started unbuttoning Mike’s shirt. His hair fell on Mike’s neck, causing Mike to squirm and writhe, laughing as Johnny fumbled with his buttons.

“Hold _still_ , Stoker!”

“Oh, boy,” Mike laughed, still squirming. “Make me!”

“Oooh, you’re on,” Johnny said, as he quickly started manhandling Mike into the bedroom of the apartment.

Mike fought back just enough that the game was fun, making Johnny wrestle him onto the bed, and being uncooperative with being undressed. Soon, though, despite their game, Johnny had them both completely naked and on the bed. He pinned Mike to the mattress, and used one hand to hold Mike’s wrists together over his head.

“Gotcha,” Johnny said, as they both panted from the exertion.

“You sure?” Mike replied, as he extricated his wrists from Johnny’s hand, and flipped them both so fast Johnny didn’t know what hit him.

“You’re still right where I want you,” Johnny said, looking up at Mike. “Plus, it’s not fair. You’ve got at least twenty pounds on me.”

“At least,” Mike said, nodding gravely as he leaned down to kiss Johnny. “But remember, last time I said ‘make me?’”

Johnny laughed. “Yeah, I couldn’t take one normal step. Now you got me pushing bikes up hills and shit. But enough about that.”

“Enough, indeed,” Mike murmured into Johnny’s neck.

~!~!~!~

Half an hour later, Mike sat at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, while Johnny was in the bathroom. He could feel the telltale pounding heart and fast breathing of a panic attack starting up all on its own, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop thinking about what he was thinking about. The harder he tried not to think about what was making him so anxious, the worse it got.

Johnny stopped short as he returned to the room.

“Mike? What’s wrong?”

“He’s gonna know, Johnny!” Mike said, between breaths.

“Who’s gonna know what? And it looks to me like you’re hyperventilating, babe. Slow down, all right? Or I can get you a paper bag if you want.”

Mike forced himself to hold his breath for a moment, and then found it easier to breathe normally. “Roy. He’s gonna know we … you know.”

Johnny sat next to Mike on the edge of the bed. “Well, yeah. He knows that. But believe me—he’s not gonna be dwelling on it. Trust me on this, Mikey.”

Mike looked warily at Johnny. “How do you know?”

“Because when I was talking to him last night, I made a teensy, weensy reference to how amazing things are in the bedroom department, and he completely shut me down. Trust me. Roy’s a prude. He won’t wanna even _think_ about it. Okay?”

Mike breathed a few more times as Johnny rubbed his back.

“Yeah. Okay. Sorry I freaked out. Jesus. I’m such a baby sometimes.”

“You’re not a baby—I know this is hard for you. I mean, look at the job we’re in. We both hafta work pretty hard to make sure people don’t find out about our personal lives, and now you’re about to look right into the eye of a guy from work who knows your big secret. But it’s _Roy_ , Mike. I don’t think there’s anything in the world I wouldn’t trust him with.”

“I know. I know. Okay. Panic attack averted.” Mike rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands. “I fucking hate this shit. I thought I was doing better.”

“I think you’re doing great. But what do you think your doc guy would say about what just happened?”

Mike frowned as he pondered the question. “Oh, probably that the whole thing with Roy was about the most stressful thing I could do voluntarily, and that it wouldn’t be surprising if it caused me a little setback.”

“Right. So you got anxious about seeing Roy tonight, and you talked yourself down. You didn’t have to breathe into a paper bag, and you’re fine now.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “I guess so. But I didn’t exactly talk myself down. _You_ talked me down.”

“Well, that’s all right. Because this is something that concerns both of us. And I knew some things you didn’t. Like the fact that Roy is the hugest prude on the planet. In fact, I sometimes wonder how he and Joanne managed to have two kids, because any time the conversation even remotely drifts towards sex, he gets all red and changes the subject.”

“I guess everyone’s got their things,” Mike said.

“Yep. Now, how about some lunch?”

~!~!~!~

Roy knocked at Johnny’s door just after seven thirty, and Johnny let him in promptly.

“Hey, Roy, c’mon in. I’ll get the coffee,” Johnny said.

“I got it,” Mike called from the kitchen.

“Oh, good—did he make it?” Roy asked.

“Har de har har, partner. But yes, actually, Stoker made the coffee.”

Mike brought three mugs into the living room, and everyone sat down. Roy took the recliner, leaving Johnny and Mike the couch. Mike tried to sit close enough to Johnny that it wouldn’t seem like he was avoiding him, but far enough that they weren’t touching at all.

“Mike, I’m happy for you guys,” Roy said, breaking the ice. “I’m guessing you’re not too comfortable with me knowing about this. So I just want to make it clear that I’m not gonna tell anyone. But I’m glad I know. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Okay. Thanks.” His jaw was clenched, and his knuckles were emptying of blood as he clenched his hands in his lap.

Johnny sighed. “Mikey.”

“It’s understandable if you two are nervous about this,” Roy said. And at that moment, Mike could’ve kissed Roy for saying ‘you two,’ rather than singling Mike out in his anxiety.

“I don’t say much at work because I’m afraid of being outed,” Mike blurted.

Roy just nodded. “All right. That’s understandable. And I think I understand you a little better now.”

“It’s … nothing personal,” Mike said, loosening his hands’ grips on themselves a hair. “It’s not that I don’t want you, specifically, to … know about me. I’m just not used the idea of anyone at work knowing. _Anyone_. I tend to get freaked out about stuff, and this is at the top of my list.”

Roy nodded. “Okay. So, what do you think is going to happen? How will tomorrow be different from any other shift in the last few weeks?”

“You’ll _know_ ,” Mike said, “and I’ll _know_ that you know! Jesus, this all sounds so completely fucking stupid.”

“Look,” Roy said patiently. “Yes. I know. But to be perfectly honest, it’s been pretty obvious to everyone on the shift that you’re in a new relationship—a hot new relationship, as Chester would put it—and that you don’t want to talk about it. And I’ll admit, I was surprised as hell when Johnny told me about you two last night. But after I thought about it for a while, I stopped being surprised.”

Mike buried his head in his hands. “Shit—you mean you guessed I was gay?”

“No,” Roy said. “In fact, that’s what I was _most_ surprised about. I never would’ve guessed that in a million years. What I was going to say, was that once I stopped being surprised, I was really, really pleased. Because Johnny’s my best friend, and I can’t think of a better guy for him to be with. And because you, my friend, are so obviously in love, and so is Junior, here. So it didn’t take long for me to get from surprised to happy, all right?”

“Okay,” Mike said, unclenching his hands. He looked down at his hands, and opened and closed them to restore circulation, and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry I’m being so weird about this. It’s really … well, I’m glad you know, actually. And I’m wondering if you’d do me a favor.”

“Sure, Mike. What do you need?” Roy asked.

“Well, if anything, you know, happens to me, before Gage comes back to work, can you call him?”

Now it was Johnny’s turn to bury his face. “Jesus, Mike.”

“What?” Mike said, turning to Johnny. “It could happen. I’d want you to know. You’d want to know. And I can’t exactly ask Cap to put you on my emergency contact list, now can I?”

“Mike’s right, Johnny,” Roy said. “And of course I’d do that. And I’ll do another thing, too.”

Johnny frowned at him. “What’s that?”

“When you’re back on the job, I’ll keep my eyes on you both. Watch for anything weird. If you want. I could also not, if that would be easier on your heads,” Roy said.

Johnny laughed. “Oh, come on, Roy; you’ll be watching us like a hawk anyhow, but thanks for admitting it.”

“I’m pretty good at staying below the radar,” Mike said. “But yeah, it would be good to know if we’re … I don’t know. Acting suspicious. The plan is eyes where they belong, hands off, same old conversations. Such as they were.”

“It’s all still a couple weeks off at least,” Johnny said. “If I even requalify successfully.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Gage. You’re so ready you’ll blow all those eighteen-year-old kids right out of the water,” Mike said.

“Besides, you’ve been a firefighter for years now. That’ll make the testing that much easier,” Roy added.

“Yeah, okay. Also—HQ is probably gonna sic light duty on me till then,” Johnny said. “If something comes up.”

“Oooh, desk job!” Mike said, laughing. “John Gage, the desk jockey!”

Johnny scowled. “Laugh it up. You’ll see how much you like it when I’m all cranky from doing a desk job. But maybe dispatch. That wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Ask for A-shift hours,” Mike suggested. “I bet they’d go for it. Sam Lanier might want a vacation or something.”

“Hey, now that’s not a bad idea,” Johnny said, brightening a bit. “Okay—I’ll do that. I’ll call up my union rep tomorrow and see what we can do.”

Roy sat back in the recliner and just looked at his two friends.

“What’s with the smug mug, Roy?” Johnny said.

“Oh, I just actually believe it now.”

“What? That we’re an item?” Mike said. “Seriously, DeSoto. Would a guy like me joke about a thing like that?”

“I guess not,” Roy said, smiling slightly.

~!~!~!~

_Monday, 2100_

Mike had been waiting for a chance to get the phone to himself all evening. Roy finally left the dorm, after his nightly call to JoAnne.

“Your turn,” he said to Mike, who was trying to look like he wasn’t hovering by the door, and failing miserably.

“Thanks,” Mike said, and left before anyone could ask him what it was his turn for. He called Johnny, hoping he’d pick up.

“ _Hello_?”

“Hey, babe. What did HQ say?”

“ _They got nothin’. Nothin’ at dispatch, nothin’ at a desk. Nothin’. But they said they could give me a special slot for the physical agility testing. So that’s good._ ”

“Really? When?”

“ _Ten days. I think I’ll be ready_.”

“You will. You are, already.”

“ _I was thinking, you guys have a double shift coming up, so I was thinking maybe I’d do a little solo hike then. Get my head ready for everything, you know? Plus I just miss you so damned much when I’m sitting around.”_

“Sure,” Mike said. “I don’t blame you.”

“What, for missing you?”

Mike swore he could see Johnny’s lopsided grin. “No, you moron, for feeling like you need to get away for a while.”

“ _I hope you were smiling when you said that._ ”

“Of course I was. How was your day, other than that?”

“ _Boring. Lonely. Uninteresting. How’s the shift?_ ”

“Pretty much the same. Nothing interesting. Just as well. Oh, Roy and I touched up a ding on the squad.”

“ _Who dinged it?_ ”

“B-shift. Paris tripped while he was carrying a halligan, and dinged the hood with the adz end.”

“ _Great_.”

“Yeah. Cap was pissed, and I don’t even wanna know what Hookrader said to Paris. But we had a slow shift, so we took care of it.”

There was a brief silence, while Johnny decided whether or not to talk about what Mike was thinking about.

“ _Was it okay for you, today_ ,” Johnny finally asked, “ _working with Roy?_ ”

“Yeah. I felt a little, I don’t know, exposed, I guess, when I first went in this morning, but it passed.”

“ _Good_.”

Mike looked up sharply as Chet barged into the dorm.

“Sorry, Stoker!” Chet called, and exited quickly, not appearing the slightest bit sorry.

“ _What was that?_ ” Johnny asked.

“Chet just barged in. I figured he would. It’s just killing him that I won’t say anything about my new flame.”

“ _Figures. He’ll get over it._ ”

“He better, ‘cause he’s getting nothin’ from me. Anyhow—I better go. I think Chet barging in was my cue.”

“O _kay. I’ll show you my maps tomorrow. See what you think.”_

“All right. Love you. Have a good night.”

“ _You too. Safe shift._ ”

“You bet. I’ll show up at your place when we get off.”

“ _Good. I’ll be here._ ”

~!~!~!~

_Tuesday, 0820_

Johnny was drinking coffee at his table, poring over a topographical map, when Mike came in.

“Whoa, you look exhausted. You okay?”

“Totally beat. We were up and running all night. Mostly BS calls, but still.”

“Yeah, I know. Dumb calls don’t make the tiredness any easier. Anyhow, I made eggs and bacon. Let’s eat, then get you packed off to bed for a while.”

“Thanks.”

Johnny brought the plates in from the oven, where they were keeping warm. When he came out, he found Mike looking at his topo maps. He set a plate and a fork down at each place, and they tucked in to their breakfasts.

“So where are you thinking of going?” Mike asked.

Johnny pointed to a canyon, a winding area between two hills where the lines on the topographical map were packed closely together, indicating extremely steep slopes.

“There’s a stream down here, that’s good fishing. It’s a pretty challenging hike in and out, but I’ll have the place all to myself.”

Mike frowned at the map. “That’s really in the middle of nowhere. And it’s really steep. Have you been there before?”

“Of course. That’s how I know it’s good fishing. And that I’ll have it all to myself.”

Mike didn’t reply. He slowly ate another piece of bacon, and a few bites of egg.

“What?” Johnny said.

“Well, I’m just thinking about how it’s _really_ the middle of nowhere. And it looks a little …”

Johnny cocked his head. “A little what?”

Mike sighed, and shook his head. “Never mind.” He pushed his eggs around on his plate, and looked at the map again.

“No, seriously. What were you gonna say?”

“I said never mind,” Mike said.

“But I wanna hear what—”

“Fine,” Mike snapped. “What I was gonna say, was, do you really think it’s a good idea for you to be doing such a tough hike, all on your own, in the middle of nowhere, when you’re still getting back on your feet?”

Johnny blinked, and leaned back. “Whoa. Okay. You’re the one who’s been telling me I’m ready to go back to being a firefighter. So why not this?”

“Because if something happens, there’s nobody there, all right? I mean, one bad step, and bam!”

“Now that’s not fair, Mike. I did this stuff all the time before I got hurt. And I’m feeling fine. And everyone, including you, is trying to get me stoked up to get back to work! So why are you all worked up about this?”

“I just said why! Because you’d be out there all on your own! That’s why!”

Johnny huffed in frustration. “Mike, I’ve always done stuff like this on my own. Nothing’s ever happened. Okay?”

“But Johnny, that was before you had a fracture so bad your leg folded in half. It was before you were off the job for four months. I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying I’m not really ready to go back to work. Is that it? Have you been feeding me bullshit the last couple weeks? Telling me I’m ready, to try to make me not feel sorry for myself?”

Mike stared at Johnny, whose neck veins were standing out sharply. Another vein stood out in his forehead. Mike shook his head.

“No. I just think it’s not the best idea to put yourself to the test, solo! That’s all, Johnny!”

Johnny put his hands to his head and clenched his hair. “Jesus, Mike! I have to do it on my own! Okay? I have to! I always have, and it’s the only way I—”

Johnny stopped short as Mike stood up.

“Where are you going?” Johnny asked, as Mike took his plate to the kitchen and started washing it.

“Home,” Mike said.

“If you’re gonna storm out, do it like a normal person, and don’t wash your goddamned dishes on your way out,” Johnny said coldly.

Mike ignored him, rinsed his plate, and put it in the dish drainer. He stalked to the door.

“Wait—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Johnny didn’t finish before the door slammed shut, leaving him and his maps in an empty apartment.

~!~!~!~

Mike slammed the door of his pickup, and jammed the keys in the ignition. He backed out of his space, and stomped on the clutch as he shifted angrily into first. He left the truck in a low gear longer than necessary, letting the engine’s whine voice his anger and frustration. He peeled out of the parking lot, and drove several blocks until Johnny’s building was out of sight. At the first stop sign, he pounded his palms on the steering wheel.

“Fuck!” he shouted to nobody. “God damn it! He’s gonna get himself killed! Stupid, selfish, crazy fucking idiot!” The steering wheel and the dashboard took abuse at each word, and a pedestrian glanced at him warily, even though the windows were rolled up.

Mike nearly caused an accident by pulling away from the stop sign without looking both ways. The other driver’s horn blared, adding to his agitation. He let the adrenaline of the near miss seethe through him. It fueled the fire, making his insides churn, making acid bubble up his esophagus. He pulled over, and yanked his glove compartment open angrily, peeling the paper away from his ever-present roll of Tums, and chewed three tablets as he continued to drive.

He was halfway home when he pulled over again. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving him more exhausted than ever, with the feeling of a hangover.

“You’re an asshole, Stoker,” he said to himself. “Unbelievable. Can’t even tell the guy you’re only worried because you love his sorry ass.”

Mike turned his truck around, and headed back to Johnny’s place. He flew up the stairs two at at time, and hesitated at the door. He knocked, rather than letting himself in.

There was no answer.

He knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer.

Hands shaking, Mike opened the door with the key Johnny had given him.

“Johnny? Babe, I’m really sorry. You’re totally right.”

No answer.

“Johnny?”

The apartment was empty.

Mike fell onto the couch, the adrenaline surging again. His heart pounded in his chest, and he couldn’t breathe. No, wait—he could. He knew he could. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

He paced the apartment as he thought about what to do. He was so exhausted that his brain was fogged, making his mind work as slowly as a paddle going through honey.

He picked up Johnny’s phone, and dialed his own home number. If Johnny had chased after him, he could be at Mike’s house by now. But nobody picked up.

“Fuck. Shit.”

Maybe he just wasn’t there, yet. Mike dialed again, and let the phone ring until the phone company cut off the call. He did it again, and again.

Johnny would surely have made it to Mike’s house by now if that was where he went. Mike thought about where else Johnny could have gone, and a chill washed over him as he noticed that the topographical map wasn’t on the table anymore.

“No, no nonono!”

Mike went into Johnny’s bedroom, and, hands trembling, opened the closet where he kept his camping gear. He stepped back and sat down hard on the bed when he saw it was still there.

He sat on the bed, not thinking about anything, until the surge of panic waned, and he could think clearly again. Or, at least, no less clearly than five minutes previously.

Mike called his own house one last time, but hung up after only ten rings.

“Of course,” he said to himself.

He flipped through the phone book in the kitchen, and made one more call.

“Hello?” a feminine voice said.

“Joanne, it’s Mike Stoker. Is he there? Please, please tell me he’s there,” Mike begged, not realizing how odd he would sound if Johnny weren’t in fact there.

“He’s here, Mike. He’s in the den with Roy.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes! Don’t let him leave!”

Mike slammed the phone down, and picked it up again to call back when he realized how rude he’d been, and put the receiver down again in his haste to go to Johnny.

He drove to Roy’s on autopilot, praying the whole time that Johnny wouldn’t have left before he got there. He left his truck parked very badly on the street in front of Roy’s house, and dashed to the front door. He barely remembered to knock, but it didn’t matter, since Joanne was at the door ready to let him in.

“I didn’t let him leave,” she said dryly.

“Thanks,” Mike said, as he tore through the house like one of Roy’s kids might, bursting through the door of the den.

Johnny looked up from where he was sitting on a low chair, with his head in his hands and a box of Kleenex in front of him. From the pile of crumpled tissues on the table, it looked like he’d been pretty unhappy.

“Shit, Johnny, I’m so, so sorry,” Mike said, kneeling on the floor in front of Johnny.

“I was an idiot,” Johnny said, almost at the same time.

Roy, dressed in his robe and looking like he’d just gotten out of the shower, got up and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Mike leaned forwards and took Johnny’s face in his hands, and kissed him long enough that both of them, even though they were used to having to conserve air, became breathless. Mike pulled away first, but kept his hands on Johnny.

“I never meant to imply you couldn’t do it. I’d be worried about you doing a dangerous hike in the middle of nowhere no matter what. I’m a worrier. That’s what I do,” Mike said.

“I realized that, once I thought about something other than my own ego for five seconds,” Johnny said. “I was only thinking of myself, and not how you feel. I’m sorry.”

“I guess we’re both sorry,” Mike said, laughing and sniffling at the same time. He swiped a tissue from the box, not realizing until just then that he needed it.

“Damn it, Mikey. I feel like a freakin’ girl. Running away to Roy’s, and making him put me back together again.”

“Well, that makes two of us. I completely lost it when I went back to your place and you weren’t there. I called my house, over and over, to see if you were there, and then I thought of Roy.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “He sleeps on my couch every now and then, if he and Joanne have a real bad fight, so it was only fair for me to show up bawling my head off. Joanne thought I was nuts, though.”

“Oh, shit—Joanne!” Mike said. “I was rude on the phone, and I was rude just now when she let me in.”

“I have a feeling she probably just thinks the whole thing is amusing.”

“Maybe it will be someday. I still feel like shit right now. C’mere, babe,” Mike said, and pulled Johnny up with him as he stood up. They each pulled the other close, hugging tightly and kissing at the same time, hands everywhere, heating up the DeSotos’ den, until they remembered where they were.

“Um,” Johnny said breathlessly, prying himself away from Mike.

“Yeah. Let’s, uh, maybe go back to your place?”

“I think that’s a pretty good idea. And I’ll drive. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Not for a little while yet. But it’ll be safer if the person who actually slept at all last night drives.”

They straightened their disheveled clothing, and Johnny picked up all his angrily-wadded up tissues and threw them in the trash. He opened the door, and peered sheepishly out into the living room, where Roy was reading a magazine.

“Uh, we’re okay now,” Johnny said, reddening.

“Thought you might be, when I heard plenty of silence instead of shouting,” Roy said. “Never been gladder to hear nothing.”

“Thanks for taking in my stray,” Mike said. “And—uh, I kinda need to apologize to Joanne.”

“No, you don’t,” Joanne called from the kitchen. She emerged with a dishtowel over her shoulder. “I understand perfectly. I’m just glad you two came to your senses.”

“Me too,” Mike said. “Me too. Anyhow—sorry I kinda hung up on you. I was really worried.”

“Not a problem, Mike,” Joanne said. “And—I’m glad to see you two looking happy. Really.”

“Thanks,” Mike and Johnny said together.

“Now I gotta get this guy home before he passes out,” Johnny said. “Mind if he leaves his truck in front of your house? He really, really shouldn’t be driving right now.”

“No problem,” Roy said. “In fact, I think I’ll hit the hay, now that the crisis has been averted.”

Johnny and Mike got into the Rover, and Johnny backed out of the driveway. They didn’t speak at all in the car, not out of anger, but out of not wanting to spoil their apologies to each other with mundanities and platitudes. Five minutes later, they were trudging up the stairs to Johnny’s apartment.

Mike forgot how tired he was the instant they entered the apartment and Johnny’s hands touched him, feeling as though they would burn holes right through his checkered shirt. His own hands didn’t seem to be working right; neither did his voice, because all it could do was murmur “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, his lips brushing against Johnny’s lips, neck, chest.

A shirt flew this way, and another flew that way. A pair of sneakers got tangled up with a pair of Levis, as their owners got tangled up with each other. Johnny half-pushed, half-pulled Mike into the bedroom, and backed up to the bed, bringing Mike down with him. They cooperated with each other’s removal of the last items of clothing, and finally they were skin to skin, wishing they could shed their skins to be even closer.

Johnny shuddered as Mike’s hot breath ghosted across his chest, and whined and tried to arch up when Mike’s tongue flicked a nipple. Mike tried to flip them, to their sides, but Johnny pushed back.

“No,” he gasped, “I want you right there. Wanna feel your weight, to know you’re there.”

“I’m here,” Mike said, pressing Johnny into the mattress. “Oh god, Johnny, I _left_. I ran away. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Love you right back,” Johnny said. “We’re all right. C’mon, now.” He picked up one of Mike’s hands, leaving still more of Mike’s weight on him, and kissed each knuckle, starting from the hand and moving to the tips of his fingers. When he’d hit all the knuckles, he sucked Mike’s first two fingers into his mouth, and tongued them thoroughly.

Mike groaned at the obscenity of how Johnny looked, even though it was just fingers he was sucking away at. And sucking fingers was also an invitation, for what Johnny wanted him to do with those fingers, and what he wanted after that.

Johnny let Mike’s fingers go. “You know what I want?”

“I sure do, babe,” Mike said, as he circled and played with Johnny’s ass. Johnny wriggled a pillow under his hips.

“Hard, Mikey. Hard and fast, and sooner than you want to. Please? I wanna really, really feel you,” Johnny begged.

“Johnny …”

“You won’t break me. I wanna feel you. So bad. Please?”

Mike was silent, then nodded. “You have to swear you’ll say if it’s too much.”

“I swear! Please, I’m begging.”

“Fuck,” Mike said, as he entered with one finger, circling from the inside, faster and more firmly than he’d normally do, watching Johnny’s face the whole time.

“More,” Johnny said, clutching at Mike’s free hand. He let go and reached over his head, fumbling around the bedside table for the bottle of lube. He grabbed it clumsily, and handed it to Mike.

Johnny sighed as Mike’s hand left his body, but he was soon rewarded by the entrance of two fingers. He cried out wordlessly, and Mike froze.

“More,” Johnny said again, and the look on his face backed up his request. “Now.”

“Not yet, babe. I’ll give you what you want, but I’m not gonna injure you to do it.” Mike slicked up a third finger and continued his prep, and Johnny groaned and clutched at him, one hand pulling Mike’s hair, and the other grabbing Mike’s free hand.

Mike moved up Johnny’s body to kiss him fiercely. They both smelled of stress, and Mike wanted to wash away the odors of fear and anxiety and replace them with lust and then satisfaction.

Johnny thrust himself against Mike’s hand, the desperation pouring out of him. He whined when Mike pulled his hand away, but when he saw Mike slicking his cock up he babbled freely.

“Oh god oh god Mikey now now n—”

Mike silenced Johnny with a kiss, and took him at his word, pushing in steadily but with great control. Johnny groaned, the sound of which trumped the filthiest thing Mike had ever heard.

Mike shivered at the nearly-too-tight feel of Johnny, the feel of his sweat-slick skin, so smooth, hot to the touch yet cool at the same time from the evaporation of clean sweat. He stayed motionless, waiting for a signal from Johnny, but none came yet. Johnny’s demeanor had shifted from frantic desperation to an open-mouthed expression Mike recognized as utter bliss.

“Babe? Too much?”

“No! God no. Don’t move yet, or I’ll come right now.”

That was fine with Mike—he was pretty much in the same boat. He held as still as he could, holding most of his weight up on his knees, thigh muscles quivering, and the sex parts of his brain in high gear from everything he was trying to take in all at once.

Johnny’s hands found Mike’s hipbones, and seemed to be trying to pull him closer still. He opened his eyes, showing that his usual medium-brown irises had melted away, leaving behind pools of deep black. If Mike didn’t know better, he’d think Johnny was stoned out of his mind.

“Go, Mikey,” Johnny said after a few moments, echoing his words with the movements of his hands on Mike’s hips.

Mike didn’t hesitate, pulling nearly all the way out, and pushing back in as he blew out a shuddering breath.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Johnny said in a strangled whisper.

Mike took his cue, and set a steady rhythm, harder and faster than he would have chosen for himself, but it wasn’t himself he was choosing for. He could see with his eyes and feel with his body that he and Johnny were joined physically, but he also felt the intangible connections very strongly. He imagined foggy tendrils linking their hearts, their brains, and imagined seeing those tendrils becoming more substantial as their bodies moved together.

He was so turned on, and with exhaustion dampening his control, Mike knew after just a minute that he wouldn’t last much longer. He swiped a still-slick palm through the copious pre-come leaking from Johnny’s cock, and grasped Johnny firmly, his hand working in time with the thrusts of his hips.

Johnny’s grip on Mike’s hips tightened, and Mike could feel the impression of each elegantly long finger. He willed his body to bruise, to produce the marks that would show who he belonged to.

Johnny’s vocalization at each thrust merged with Mike’s, and together they crescendoed, until Johnny suddenly went silent, head thrown back, neck veins distended into purple ropes, and he shouted Mike’s name as he shattered, gouts of semen that seemed far warmer than body temperature embellishing Mike’s hand, and Johnny’s chest and belly. Johnny’s pulsing muscles worked on Mike’s cock, and Mike pushed in one last time, and came with a sound midway between a groan and a sob, burying his face between Johnny’s neck and shoulder as he collapsed his weight onto his lover’s body.

Without realizing what was happening, Mike began sobbing in earnest, his inhibitions broken by sheer exhaustion and a rush of endorphins. He clutched Johnny to him as Johnny rolled their bodies so they were lying face-to-face on their sides.

“Shhh, Mikey. It’s all right. I didn’t mean it. You didn’t mean it. We’re all right,” Johnny said. He stroked and kissed Mike until he was calm again, and they were able to look each other in the eye.

“I was just worried, because I love you so goddamned much, and I’d die if something happened to you, but I was too dumb to just say that,” Mike said, once he could speak again.

“I know, babe. And I was just on the defensive, and didn’t get you were making perfect sense, because I was only paying attention to my need to prove myself strong and fit again,” Johnny said.

“You’re strong and fit, and I’m a stupid asshole,” Mike said.

“No you’re not. To be honest, I’d be worried if you did that hike on your own,” Johnny admitted. “So I won’t go. I’ll do something more sensible, when you guys have your double shift. We can do that crazy hike together sometime, okay?”

“You’re on,” Mike said, finally smiling.

Johnny kissed Mike one more time. “Let’s get a fast shower, and then I’m gonna tuck you in.”

“Okay. I think I’ll make it,” Mike said.

They showered quickly, but not so fast that they couldn’t both care for each other. By the end, Mike found he could hardly stand up any longer, and he let Johnny dry him off and lead him to the bed. He was surprised when Johnny lay down with him, folding his lanky limbs around Mike’s exhausted body.

“Never, ever gonna run away from you again,” Mike promised, and drifted off to sleep in his lover’s arms.

**TBC**


	21. Comeback

**Chapter 21: Comeback**

_Ten days later._

Mike was on shift when Johnny was doing his requalification testing. The test was a demanding set of simulations designed to test whether an individual was physically fit enough to perform the active duties of a firefighter. Johnny would have to climb stairs wearing a weighted vest, carry equipment, drag hoselines, drag and carry a heavy dummy, raise ladders, demonstrate forcible entry of a heavy door, simulate pulling down a ceiling, and perform other tasks that emulated what he might have to do on the job. This testing would be his final challenge in returning to work.

Mike was polishing the chrome on the Engine, thinking about his and Johnny’s conversation over breakfast that morning. Johnny had been relaxed and confident, and Mike, while trying to be supportive and affirming, had been so nervous he could hardly eat. Johnny’s testing was just before noon, and he would know right away whether he’d passed. Once he passed, he could resume work any time.

It was public knowledge at Station 51 that Johnny was doing the testing today. Cap had already called dibs on answering any incoming phone calls, as was his prerogative, so each time the phone rang, Mike’s heart thumped wildly in his chest, but there was nothing he could do. Cap would get the news first, and there was no way around it.

The first time the phone rang, it was a homeowner who was concerned about his neighbor’s fire pit. The second time, it was someone from HQ wanting some information from Cap. The third time, it was a schoolteacher who wanted some fire safety information for her students. Each time, Mike tried to look casual as he moved from the bay to the day room, to try to hear what the call was about. He was sure he was failing miserably, but he was also sure that nobody was watching him to see if he was behaving in an odd way. Because why would they?

The fourth time, Cap answered the phone, and, after his greeting, said, “Gage! How’d it go?

All five other men clustered around the phone, and tried to hear something, anything, from the other end of the conversation. Cap, as usual, didn’t help at all.

“Uh huh … yeah … wow, that’s—yep, I’ll tell them.”

And finally, “Congratulations, Gage. See you next shift.”

And everyone in the station, even Phillips, who’d be sent to another station, broke into cheers. There was back-pounding and hugging, and general merriment.

Once everyone had settled down, Cap called Roy and Phillips into his office for a conference. Mike stole into the dorms to try to call Johnny. That morning, he’d made Johnny promise to wait to call the station from home, so Mike could call him right back.

Johnny answered on the first ring.

“ _What took you so long?_ ” he asked, not even verifying who it was before he spoke.

“Everyone was talking about how great it was. I felt like I had some things to add to that discussion. But I had to leave out the best parts. Congratulations, babe,” Mike said quietly, watching the door carefully. “I knew you could do it.”

“ _I’d be lying if I said it was a piece of cake, but I made it, and faster than most of the new recruits, too. So look out Station 51, ‘cause Gage is back in town._ ”

“He sure is. And listen, I gotta go. I’ll try to call later, but if not, I’ll see you in the morning. We’ll have a lot to talk about.”

“ _Yeah. Sorry I was weird about, you know, making plans for coming back. I just didn’t wanna jinx anything_.”

Mike laughed. “I know, I know, even though I work very hard not to engage in magical thinking, it doesn’t mean I can stop it in other people. Even ones who regularly try to talk me out of it.”

“ _Yeah, yeah, yeah. But if I was ever gonna be superstitious about one thing, that was it. But it’s over and done with, now. So anyhow—you were right about what you’ve been saying. That we kinda have to make some rules. Make sure we’re on the same page for everything. That we have our stories straight. And I hate that phrase, but it’s kind of what we’re doing._ ”

“We can talk about it tomorrow. Have a good rest of the day.”

“ _You too. Safe shift._ ”

“You bet.”

Mike hung up the phone, and was still grinning as he returned to the day room.

Chet latched on to his expression immediately.

“Stoker, Stoker, Stoker.”

Mike’s grin disappeared, and he sighed. “Kelly, Kelly, Kelly.”

“You’ve been talking to that special someone again, haven’t you? Sharing the day’s good news?”

“Something like that,” Mike said.

“Now that’s very interesting,” Chet said. “Why would you call this girl, to talk about Gage, unless it’s someone he _also_ knows?” He snapped his fingers. “A nurse! He fixed you up with a nurse at Rampart!”

“Give it up, Chester,” Marco said, closing the oven after checking on his lunch casserole.

Mike nodded at Marco, then turned to Chet. “You’re getting nothing, Kelly. I’d’ve thought you’d understand that by now.”

“Never hurts to try,” Chet said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Okay,” Mike said. “I’m gonna do something I almost never do, which is quote my father. Kelly, asking me about my love life is like trying to teach a pig to sing.”

Chet took the bait. “How so?”

“It doesn’t work, and it annoys the pig,” Mike said. He sniffed the coffee pot, made a face, poured the stale coffee down the drain, and started a new pot.

“Humph,” Chet said. “Are you saying you’re a pig, then?”

“Not at all. It’s this sophisticated little thing, called a metaphor,” Mike said, as he set the lunch table. “Smells good, Lopez.”

“Thanks,” Marco said. “And it’s also done. Let’s eat, people.”

“Sooooo-eeeeee!” Chet hollered. “Pig pig pig pig!”

Cap strode in, followed by Roy and Phillips, who had been in his office.

“Which of the three of us are you calling a pig, Kelly?” Cap asked.

“Uh, nobody?” Chet said. “It’s just a metaphor.”

Cap looked askance at Chet. “Uh huh.” He clapped his hands together. “Smells great, Marco! What is it?”

“Chicken enchiladas. And a Greek salad.”

Roy pulled up a chair. “Multicultural day at Station 51, huh?”

“My mother’s mother was Greek,” Cap said. “Anyhow: since we’re all here, I have an announcement to make. Since Gage is coming back, Phillips will be leaving us. Roy, as his supervisor, has decided he’s ready to move on anyhow. So, he’s gonna be moving up to that new station that just opened in Battalion 15’s territory. They’ve had temporary staffing there since they opened, but Phillips will be the first permanent medic there. So congratulations, Phillips.”

“Right on!” Chet said.

“Congratulations, Phillips,” Mike said.

“Thanks, everyone,” Phillips said. “To be honest, I’ll miss you guys. You’re a great bunch. But it’s been pretty tough wearing Gage’s shoes. I just hope I didn’t scuff ‘em up too much.”

“It’s always uncomfortable wearing someone else’s shoes,” Mike said. “But you’ve got a shiny new pair, all your own, waiting for you over in the eastern part of the county. I think you’ll fill those just perfectly.”

“That was also a metaphor,” Chet said.

“Oh, boy,” Mike muttered.

Cap rolled his eyes. “If you guys start going all literary on me, I’m gonna go eat in my office.”

“So, should we throw any kind of welcome-back party for Johnny?” Marco said.

“Good idea, Marco,” Cap replied. “What’ve you got in mind?”

The crew spent the rest of their lunch hour coming up with various ideas, but Mike managed to convince everyone, without _looking_ like he was trying to convince them, that Johnny wouldn’t want anything spectacular.

“I mean, it’s not like we should just go back to business as usual, and ignore the whole thing,” Mike said. “But my impression—you know, from kind of coaching him through getting fit again—is that he’d just as soon put the whole thing behind him, and get back to work, without a big reminder of what happened, and why he was gone.”

“Hm,” Cap said. “I guess I can see that.”

“How about just having some of his favorite meals, and maybe a cake with dinner?” Roy suggested.

“Good idea,” Cap said. “Huh—what are his favorites? Anyone recall?”

Mike knew exactly what Johnny liked, but kept his mouth firmly shut.

“Stoker’s spaghetti,” Marco said. “He always likes that, and he won’t have had it for a while.”

Mike happened to catch Roy’s eye at that moment, and they both had to work hard to suppress any expression.

“He’d like that,” Roy said.

“I can probably manage that,” Mike said.

“I can get my mom to make a chocolate cake,” Marco said.

“Great, Marco,” Cap said.

“I can make sure the Phantom puts in an appearance,” Chet said.

“Kelly,” Cap said, “I can’t really say ‘no’ to that. But just … try to keep it under control. No water bombs, okay? Plus all the usual rules.”

“No water bombs,” Chet agreed. “Nothing dangerous, destructive, or offensive. Got it. But the Phantom has been looking forward to this day for a long time.”

“All right,” Cap said. “Does that all seem appropriate? And I’ll make some kind of speech, and we can all say something if we want.”

“That oughta be about right,” Roy said.

~!~!~!~

The rest of the shift passed without incident, and without any calls that were outside of the ordinary. The engine had two minor night-time runs, but the squad was up and running all night, so nobody got anything like a decent night’s sleep. Mike trudged wearily up the stairs to Johnny’s floor, and let himself in.

“Hey!” Johnny said, rising from the couch to greet Mike, and kissing him soundly. “You look tired. Tough shift?”

“Just a lot of calls. Nothing spectacular, though. Couple hours sleep and I’ll be fine.”

“Want some breakfast?”

“Maybe just some cereal,” Mike said.

Johnny got out the milk and cereal, and poured Mike a bowl, and set it in front of him at the table, along with a glass of orange juice.

“Thanks,” Mike said. “And I’m really glad you’re gonna be back.”

“Lemme tell ya, that makes two of us,” Johnny said, watching Mike as he spooned up the cereal and ate.

“I was thinking,” Mike said, “that we oughta just do like we’ve been doing, once you’re back. Come over here after we get off work, and sleep it off, and then go to my house the first night, and your house the second night.”

Johnny nodded. “I was thinkin’ the same thing. We gotta make sure we don’t always leave together and show up at the same time, though.”

“Of course. I can still show up obsessively early, and you can still skid in at the last possible second, just beating Kelly, so he gets latrine duty.”

Mike munched on his cereal, barely holding his head up. “You know what I’m totally gonna hate?”

“Night?” Johnny guessed.

“Got it in one.”

“Me too. Man, we’ve got a hell of a lot of pretending to do.”

“I think we’ll get used to it,” Mike said. “And during the day part of the shift, it won’t be so bad. The uniform’s a pretty darned good reminder.”

“Tell me about it,” Johnny said, laughing. “Remember that time a couple weeks ago when you came home in your blues? And I made you shower and change before I’d even get near you?”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “That’s what I was thinking of, actually.” He ate a few more bites of his cereal, and put his spoon down.

“Too tired to finish, huh?” Johnny said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ll tuck you in. One last time, before we’re both so tired we’re fallin’ in a heap.”

~!~!~!~

By one o’clock, Mike was himself again. He and Johnny had lunch, and then drove up to Mike’s together. While they were watching a game, Mike ran his hands through Johnny’s hair.

“You’re gonna have to get it cut, you know,” he said.

“Huh? Now, I just got it last week, so I wouldn’t look like a total freak for my physical aptitude test.”

Mike shook his head. “Still too long. No way it won’t stick out under your helmet, pal.”

“I bet you Cap won’t say anything,” Johnny said. “Not on my first shift back.”

“Oh, I bet you he will!” Mike said.

“All right—you’re on. What are the stakes?”

Mike thought for a minute.

“How about this. Whoever wins gets to start whatever kind of thing they want in the bedroom the next day. I mean, with the usual rule that if it’s unpleasant in any way, it stops at a word.”

Johnny chuckled. “I see. You don’t think I can come up with anything kinky, do you? Well, I’ll show you, Stoker. You’re on. And I’m gonna win. And I’ll come up with something you never woulda thought of, but you’ll like anyhow.”

“It’s a deal, Mr. Vanilla.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll see your vanilla, and I’ll raise you, uh, chocolate syrup.”

Mike laughed. “Pretty good. But you always get stuck on that sort of thing.”

“You’ll see,” Johnny grumbled. “’Cause I’m gonna win, ‘cause Cap won’t harass me about my hair on day one.”

“We’ll see about that. So, just so everything’s clear: if Cap even mentions your hair during the shift, I win. If he doesn’t, you win.”

“That’s how I’m seein’ it,” Johnny said. “Shake on it?”

They shook hands, but Mike held onto Johnny’s hand, as hard as he could, and pulled Johnny over onto him. “Enough about that,” Mike said. “And this is the most boring baseball game in history. Show me your stuff, Mr. Chocolate.”

“No sneak previews, Stoker. But yeah, the game sucks. C’mon.”

**TBC**

  
  


  
  



	22. Business As Usual

**Business As Usual**

  
  


_0715; Johnny’s place_

Mike finished washing the breakfast dishes, and Johnny put them away.

“This is gonna be weird,” Johnny said, for the umpteenth time that morning.

“It’ll be fine,” Mike said, also for the umpteenth time. “I’ll get there early, just like always, and you show up whenever seems right to you. We’ve been going out with the guys, and we haven’t slipped up even once. And it’ll be work as usual—I bet after our first call, we’ll settle right in.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. It’s weird,” Johnny said, as he hung up his dish towel, “because I thought I’d be nervous about getting back to work, but it’s not that. I know I’m ready. It’s more … us.”

“I know. We’ll be fine.”

“And you’re still not gonna tell me what the guys are plotting, are you?”

“Nope.” Mike drained the sink, and dried his hands. “That’d be cheating. Plus, then you’d have to pretend to be surprised. And there’s gonna be enough pretending.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. And then in the morning, we’ll come back here to my place and drop off the Rover and head to your place if it was a tame shift, and if it was an all-nighter, we’ll crash here for awhile, just like we talked about, right?”

“You bet,” Mike replied. “I gotta go, if I’m gonna be my usual early self.”

“Wait a minute,” Johnny said. He leaned Mike against the counter, and kissed him thoroughly. “Okay. You’re all kissed up. Now I can let you take off.”

“I’ll see you at the station when you get there. And it’ll be business as usual.”

“Right. See you.”

Johnny watched Mike leave, and went back to his room to finish getting dressed. “Business as usual,” he said to himself. “I don’t even think I know what that is anymore.”

Ten minutes later, Mike walked in the back door of Station 51. Just like he had at the beginning of every shift for the last four and a half years. The apparatus bay was deserted; B-shift was out on a call. 

In the locker room, which he had all to himself, just like always, he changed into his blues. In the kitchen, just like always, he started a pot of coffee. A few minutes later, just like always, Hank Stanley strode into the kitchen. 

“Stoker,” he said. “How were your days off?”

“Just fine, Cap. How ‘bout you?”

“Dandy. Have to say, nothing against Phillips, but I’m looking forward to Gage being back today. It’s gonna be good to have our gang all back together again. I’ll tell ya, Mike; I wasn’t so sure for a while that he was gonna make it, but he did.”

“He sure did, Cap.” Mike stared into his coffee, thinking about the long road Johnny had been down the last six months. The road that Mike had traveled with him on for nearly three of those months. They had come to the end of that particular road, and were about to turn onto a new one, with its own challenges.

“You all set for making dinner tonight?”

Mike nodded. “Yep. I stashed all the non-perishables in the back seat the other day, and swung by the store on the way here for the ground beef for the meatballs.”

“Uh, who were you hiding all the stuff from?”

Mike’s stomach lurched, and he suddenly felt like he was going to throw up. Five minutes in the station on the day Johnny was coming back, and he’d already made a mistake. “Oh—nobody. It would just take too long to get it all on the way here, is all.”

“Oh. For a minute I thought maybe you’d finally found a new housemate. But I guess now that you can do OT again, maybe you’re swinging it on your own.”

“It’s working out okay,” Mike said. At the moment, Mike was supremely glad he’d never even thought about Cap’s suggestion to look for a paying housemate to help with the taxes and expenses after Larry moved out. 

A crazy idea popped into Mike’s head. He turned it over for a few moments, and then shoved it aside. Today was _not_ the day to be thinking what he was thinking, for about a thousand reasons, so he pitched the idea into a corner of his brain, and closed the door on it.

Marco appeared at the kitchen door. “Morning, Cap, Mike. I’ve got the cake—I’ll just stick it in your office, Cap.”

“Sure thing, Marco. Thanks. And pal—try to keep Chet a teensy bit under control today, will you?”

“I am not my brother’s keeper, but I’ll see if I can at least keep things from getting out of hand,” Marco said, grinning.

Cap shook his head. “I sure hope Gage hasn’t forgotten how to duck a water bomb. Because frankly, I don’t quite see Chet heeding my advice to keep it dry today.”

“I bet Johnny’s expecting to get wet today,” Mike said. In fact, he knew that Johnny was bringing his entire pile of uniforms, just in case. 

“I know everyone’s got their own ways of expressing affection, but Chet’s is … different,” Cap said. 

“We all know it’s just his way, though, Cap.”

At 0750, Johnny strode into the kitchen.

“Mornin’ mornin’ mornin’!”

Cap and Marco stood up, and Mike instantly recognized it’d be weird not to do the same.

“Hey, Pal! Welcome back!” Cap shook Johnny’s hand, and Marco followed. 

Mike did his best to suppress a grin as he did the same. “Good to see you back at the station, Gage.” He felt a subtle extra squeeze that didn’t belong in a polite handshake, and returned it in kind.

“Thanks, everyone. It sure is good to be back.” Johnny rubbed his hands together. “Yes indeedy, good to be back.” He went to the stove, and grabbed a mug from the cabinet near the coffee pot. “Uh, Kelly hasn’t been anywhere near this pot of coffee, has he?”

Mike shook his head. “I made it myself at seven thirty, and I haven’t been out of this room since then. And I haven’t seen Kelly yet. So I’m pretty sure it’s safe.”

“Good.” Johnny sat at the table with his coffee. “Aaaah. Firehouse coffee. Nothing like it.”

Roy joined the group. “Except maybe hospital staff lounge coffee. Welcome back, partner.” He clapped Johnny on the shoulder. “It sure is gonna be good not being half medic, half teacher anymore.”

“You gonna turn over a new leaf and let me drive the squad?” Johnny joked.

“Don’t push it, Junior,” Roy said, grinning.

“Well, by my count, it’s time for roll call and inspection in two,” Cap said. “I’ll just get my notes, and I’ll see you in the bay. Looks like Kelly’s already decided he wants latrine duty today.”

“He’s in the locker room, Cap,” Roy said. 

“No doubt rigging something for yours truly,” Johnny said, scowling. “I’m ready, though.”

The men put their coffee cups in the sink, and headed to the bay for roll call and inspection. As they stood in front of the closet containing the ridiculous hats they wore just for weekly inspection, Johnny paused.

“I’m _not_ opening this.”

“Hmm. Good thought,” Mike said. “Stand to the side—I’ll get it.” He checked the ceiling above them, just to make sure Chet hadn’t suspended anything that could somehow fall when the closet door was opened. 

“Should we maybe open it with a pike pole?” Johnny suggested.

But Mike yanked the door open, standing as far back as he could. Nothing happened. Everyone sighed with relief, and grabbed their hats from the racks. Chet slid in just in the nick of time, arriving in the lineup seconds before Cap came out of his office.

Everyone stood at attention as Cap arrived. 

“At ease, gentlemen. Welcome back, John. It’s been a long haul, and we’re all glad you’re back with us today. I can’t tell you how great it is to see the five of you lined up in front of me again. Nothing against Phillips, of course, but I think we all know we’ve got a really special team here.”

“Hear hear,” Chet said. “Right on, Cap.”

“That’s all for speeches, unless you’d like to say something, Gage.”

“Thanks, Cap. I just wanna thank you all one more time for everything you did to help me out while I was down, and to help me get back on my feet again. I’m not just sayin’ stuff when I tell you that I couldn’t have done it without you. That’s all.”

“Well, I think I can speak for all of us when I say you’re welcome. We wouldn’t’ve had it any other way, right, boys?”

There were mutterings of agreement.

“Glad to see you back in the pink, Johnny,” Chet said.

“All right—down to business. First, you’ll be happy to hear that John’s return today got us out of a boatload of code inspections. C-shift is stuck with them tomorrow. Instead, we get to be stood down for a couple hours to do some drills, all together, for old times’ sake.”

 _And to check up on me real good_ , Johnny thought. But he was up to anything Cap would throw at him, and he knew it.

“We’ll be down at the training center until 1400 hours, unless something big comes up. Stoker, you throw together some sandwiches before we head out. Lopez, you’re on dorms. Roy, John—squad needs a good inventory. And Kelly—you know what to do.”

“Yessir, latrines, sir. At your service.”

“No need to brown-nose, Kelly,” Cap said. “We already know you’re an ass. Just hop to it. We’ll try to be out of here by 0830. Dismissed.”

The men broke out of their line, and put their hats back in the closet. Chet headed straight for the bathroom, apparently wanting to get an early start on his chores. Johnny frowned as he turned around to say something to Cap, but just missed him as Cap darted into his office, with uncharacteristic speed, closing the door behind him.

Marco suddenly snorted and laughed. Johnny looked behind him, thinking for sure Chet was about to do something to him, but only Roy and Mike were there. Roy looked at Johnny, and turned away quickly to hide … something. Mike couldn’t help himself, and burst out laughing.

“What,” Johnny sighed, finally realizing he must have been pranked without knowing it, “did he do?”

“Just … just go look in the mirror,” Mike suggested, doing a poor job of containing himself.

Johnny stalked into the locker room, straight towards the mirror. His entire forehead was bright pink.

There was a bright flash, as Chet popped out from the shower stall with his Instamatic and snapped a shot. 

“Kelly!” Johnny bellowed. 

“Welcome back, pigeon,” Chet said. “And don’t worry. I’m already planning on cleaning that hatband up for you.”

“You’d better,” Johnny said, as he started running the water. “And I’m gonna watch you put it on yourself, first, before it goes back on the rack.”

“Sure thing, Gage. Like I said, we’re all glad to see you back in the pink.”

“Ha, ha,” Johnny said, as he started washing. “Yeah, I got it, Chet. And this better come off, or what’s left of you is gonna fit into a can of Spam when I’m done with you.”

“Relax, babe. It’s just clown makeup,” Chet said, passing Johnny a bar of soap.

“I’m not even _touching_ that soap, Kelly.” Johnny said. “Mike, hand me a bar from the cabinet, will you?”

“Sure thing.” Mike unwrapped a fresh bar of soap, and put it into Johnny’s outstretched hand. 

The lather foamed up pink as Johnny scrubbed his face at the sink. He rinsed, and looked up in the mirror. He scowled and swore as he saw that there was still a sunburnt-looking stripe across his forehead. He lathered up again, rinsed, and was relieved to see that the stripe was gone. Mike handed him a towel.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Chet had disappeared into the toilet stall, and they could hear brushing sounds, so Mike risked a minuscule smile into the mirror, which was returned. “Good to see you back here. I gotta go make lunch.”

Mike turned on his heel, leaving Johnny smiling at the mirror. Johnny whistled as he hung up his towel, and headed to the apparatus bay to join Roy in the weekly thorough inventory of the squad.

~!~!~!~ 

The drills went flawlessly, even though Cap threw some tough scenarios at them. Johnny wasn’t surprised that it seemed he was getting more than his fair share of the heavy work, but he was relieved that Cap recognized that was the appropriate way to handle the situation. He was sure he’d get an apology later, but he really didn’t mind. He was also unsurprised that Cap paired him with every single other member of the crew, including Hank himself, for various rescue scenarios. For the toughest one, Cap paired Johnny with Roy, and had the two of them carry Mike, who pretended to be unconscious in full PPE and SCBA, up a flight of stairs and down a ladder. Mike was the heaviest of the six of them, and with his gear and steel SCBA tank, he was well over two hundred and fifty pounds. But Johnny was ready for everything, and the team performed together as if they’d never been apart. 

Nobody was surprised, but everyone was pleased.

Cap ended the drills half an hour ahead of schedule, to let everyone take a turn through the shower. Mike went first, and started dinner preparations as the other men cycled through for their brief turns. Johnny and Roy ran the squad past Rampart to pick up a few things, and were back in time for their turns in the shower. 

Mike was in the kitchen chopping onions for the tomato sauce when he realized that Johnny was in the shower. Naked. At the station. 

Shit.

Mike put his knife down, leaned on the counter with both hands, and tried to think of unpleasant things. He opened his eyes wide, breathed deeply, and let the onions really get to him. He thought about the time he was at a fire where there turned out to be hazardous chemicals, and everyone who had been inside had to get sprayed down with a fog nozzle, and the water was ice cold.

Better. He inhaled the onion vapors again, and his eyes teared up. Perfect. Image erased.

“You okay, there, Stoker?” 

Mike nearly jumped out of his skin when Cap spoke, but instead managed just to knock the knife onto the floor, narrowly missing his left foot, though he couldn’t see that at the time, because he was blinded by the onion-induced tears.

He sniffed dramatically. “Onions,” he said.

“Lemme get you some Kleenex,” Cap said. Mike could hear the sound of several tissues being whisked out of the box. Cap took his hand and pressed the tissues into it. Mike wiped his eyes, blew his nose, tossed the mess into the kitchen trash under the sink, and washed his hands.

“Thanks.”

Cap picked the knife up off the floor, and washed it. He continued with the onions.

“I thought the drills went quite well this morning,” he said.

“Me too,” Mike replied. 

“I’ll be totally honest with you—I didn’t think he was going to be in quite the same shape he’d been in before, but he was. I was surprised,” Cap admitted.

“I wasn’t. He worked himself so hard I thought he was going to do himself in. I knew he’d make it.”

“I heard you guys were working out together, so I guess you’d know.”

“Yep.” 

Cap finished the onions, without any apparent discomfort.

“How do you do that?” Mike asked. 

“I don’t know,” Cap said. “I’ve never been bothered by them as much as other people.”

“Maybe it’s the high altitude,” Mike joked.

Cap laughed. “That’s what my wife says. Anything else I can do here?”

 _Keep talking to me so I don’t get a hard-on,_ Mike thought. “Nope—I did all the rest of the chopping before the onions, since I can’t stand working in the kitchen for a while after the whole onion part.”

BWAAAMP, BWOOM BWEEEEEP!

“ _Squad 51, 58-year-old male with chest pain, 1403 Renwick Place, 1-4-0-3 Renwick Place, cross street Harvard. Time out: 1411._ ”

Cap was still washing his hands, so Mike acknowledged the call at the radio station. “Squad 51 responding. KMG-365.”

“Hurry up, Johnny!” Roy called. 

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” Johnny skidded into the bay, still rubbing his damp hair with a towel. “Here!” he said, tossing the towel to Mike. He jumped into the squad, and they took off.

“You’re welcome,” Mike said to nobody, as he hung the towel up on Johnny’s hook in the locker room. But he didn’t mind.

~!~!~!~

“There’s a comb in the glove compartment,” Roy said. 

“Oh. Thanks. Man, I’m definitely not used to that anymore,” Johnny said, as he ran the comb through his unruly hair. Cap hadn’t said anything this morning, but Johnny could tell from the way Cap’s eyes traveled that he’d hear something about it next shift. 

“Guess I should probably get a haircut before the next shift, huh?”

“I wasn’t gonna say it.”

“I won my bet, though.”

“What bet?”

Johnny chuckled. “Mike was tryin’ to get me to get it cut yesterday. I bet him Cap wouldn’t say anything my first shift back. And don’t even ask what the stakes are, because trust me, you _don’t_ want to know.”

“It’s still your first shift back,” Roy reminded him, choosing to ignore Johnny’s baiting about the stakes of the bet. “It’s not too late. Just because he’s done with inspection doesn’t mean he can’t still say something.”

“Take a right at the light—and you _wouldn’t_ , would you?”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Say something to Cap about my hair bein’ in my eyes, or somethin’ like that?”

“Probably not,” Roy said, “if you behave yourself.”

“ _Behave_ myself! Why, what’d I do? Nothing! That’s what!”

“I saw you peeking in Cap’s office,” Roy said. 

“Aw, c’mon, Roy; I know you guys are plotting something. And you know I hate surprises, and Mikey knows I hate surprises. Besides, all I saw was a box. That’s it.”

“Well, then, you’ll just have to be surprised.”

“Here’s the cross street. Take a left. Surprised by what?”

Roy sighed as he pulled the squad in front of a white house with columns that someone had, for some reason, decided to paint black.

The man with chest pain didn’t seem like he was having a heart attack, but they couldn’t rule it out. Rampart had them put him on oxygen, start an IV, and transport him, so they could hopefully rule out cardiac trouble at the hospital.

Johnny rode in with the patient. For the first time in ages, he’d be entering Rampart as a professional, not a patient. He’d answered Mike with an honest “no” when he’d asked if Johnny was nervous about starting work again. But Johnny knew that for him, the acid test wasn’t going to be the physically demanding drills he knew were coming, but the first time he walked in the back door of the hospital with a patient. 

He opened the ambulance doors, and stepped out as the attendants pulled the gurney out and lowered its wheels. 

“Gage—Treatment Four,” Dr. Morton greeted him tersely. 

“No changes on the way in, Doc,” Johnny said. They entered the treatment room, and transferred the patient from the gurney to the bed in the exam room. Johnny hung the IV on the pole. 

“Now you take care, Mr. Emerson—the docs here are the best.”

“You’ve been a patient here, young man?”

“Oh, yeah. In fact, today was my first day back after a loooooong medical leave. So trust me—you’re in great hands.”

“I have been all afternoon, I believe,” the patient said. “Thank you for your help—and please say thanks to the other fireman too.”

“Sure thing.” Johnny turned to Morton. “Need anything else from us, Doc?”

“All set,” Mike Morton replied. “And welcome back, Gage.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said. And as he left the room, he muttered to himself, “And I’m _not_ soft. You oughta try carrying a fireman in gear up a flight of stairs; _then_ we’ll see who’s soft, pal.”

“Well, well, well! One day back, and you’re already talking to yourself.”

Johnny looked up sharply. “Oh, hiya, Dix.”

“Welcome back, Johnny. It’s good to see you on the right end of the business here, for a change.”

“You’re tellin’ me. I think I’ve spent enough time upstairs in this joint to last me the rest of my life. So I’ll be real happy coming in the back door here for a while, just like regular.”

“And how has your first shift back been?”

“Just dandy! We were stood down this morning, so Cap could put us—or rather me—through our paces, so that’s why you haven’t seen me an’ Roy yet today. And,” Johnny frowned, “the guys back at the station have something cooked up, even though they know I hate surprises.”

“How do you know there’s something going on?”

“Well, there’s something in Cap’s office they don’t want me to see, for one thing.”

“It’s probably a present, or a cake, or something completely reasonable like that,” Dixie said. 

“Oh,” Johnny said. “Yeah. I guess it could be.”

“Could be what?” Roy asked, as he came up to the nurses’ station.

“It could just be a cake,” Johnny said, “in Cap’s office. You guys have me all nervous, and it’s probably just a cake.”

Roy sighed. “Are you _really_ worried about this?”

“Yep.”

“All right. It’s a cake. That’s all. Marco’s mother made it. It says something appropriate on it. See? Nothing to worry about.”

Johnny brightened. “Just a cake?”

“Just a cake. Marco and Chet wanted to do something outrageous, like get all the guys from B- and C-shifts to come over at dinner time, and Chet said something about getting some girls he knew to do a singing telegram sort of thing, only with bikinis on, or something like that. But Sto—uh, it got shut down in a hurry,” Roy said, “with a little help from Cap.”

“But not from you?” Dixie teased Roy.

“I try to stay out of these sorts of things,” Roy said. “I get to deal with enough juvenile behavior at home that I’m not really interested in participating in it at my workplace.”

The HT came to life, with dispatch requesting Squad 51’s status.

“Squad 51, available, at Rampart,” Roy said. “We oughta get out of here, Junior.”

“Sure. See ya ‘round, Dix,” Johnny said.

Dispatch kept the squad busy until 1930, well after dinner would usually have been served at the station. But when Roy and Johnny returned to the station hungry and tired, they found that everyone had waited for them before eating dinner. Cap had been monitoring the radio traffic, so he knew when the squad was heading back, and had Mike start warming up the meal so it would be ready right as they returned.

“We weren’t gonna eat Mike’s spaghetti without you on your first shift back with us, John, now were we?” Cap said, on seeing Johnny’s astonished expression.

“And that’s one of the advantages of this recipe,” Mike said. “You put it all together, and you can just heat it up again when you’re ready to eat.”

Johnny opened his mouth and was about to say it wasn’t bad cold for breakfast, either, but shut himself up just in time. 

“Well, awright, then! Let’s dig in, folks,” he said instead. 

Everyone ate heartily, with speed learned from many interrupted meals.

“Great as usual, Mike,” Marco said. 

“Mm hmm,” Johnny agreed. “Aren’t you all glad I didn’t get kitchen duty today?”

“Meatloaf, burgers, or tuna casserole,” Chet said. “You have no sense of adventure with your food at _all_ , Gage.”

Mike bit the inside of his lip as he twirled some spaghetti onto his fork, studiously not making eye contact with Johnny. 

“Well, Chet, maybe it’s just that I don’t think any of you could handle my true culinary talents, so I just stick with the old standbys.” 

“Uh huh. That must be it,” Chet said. “But man, you know Phillips must be a _real_ bad cook, because I’ll tell ya, Gage, I’m actually looking forward to your cooking instead of his.”

“Oh, now come on, Chet; it wasn’t _that_ bad,” Cap said. 

“Oh yes it was,” Mike said. 

Cap sighed. “All right. It was awful.”

“Maybe Phillips was a lousy cook, but at least he could sleep without talking to himself, and getting all tangled up in the sheets and falling out of his bunk,” Marco said. 

“Aw, now come on, Marco! I only fell out that one time, and that’s probably because I was getting sick and I didn’t even know it yet!”

Mike stared at his plate again, but nobody noticed. He always stayed out of the firehouse bickering. But he also couldn’t disagree entirely with Marco, as Johnny wasn’t always the most restful bedmate.

They made it through the excellent dinner. Just as Chet started clearing the table, Marco disappeared for a moment. He returned, sticking his head through the doorway. “Cap?”

Captain Stanley cleared his throat, and stood up. “All right, everyone. Quiet for a second.”

All eyes looked upwards.

Cap turned to look at Johnny. 

“Now, I gave you a few quick words of welcome this morning at roll call, Gage. But we all wanted to have a chance to say something, which I know you’ll hate, but you’re just gonna have to put up with it, okay, pal?”

Johnny grinned, and nodded. “I’ll take it like a man, Cap.”

Mike coughed hard into his napkin, and gave Johnny a nearly imperceptible glare once he’d recovered.

“Good,” said the Captain. “RHIP, so me first. John—I missed your good nature, your sense of humor, and, God save me, even your constant planning for this and that. You’re a strong firefighter and a talented medic, and we’re lucky to have you here on A-shift, and even luckier that you made it back to us. Here’s to no more interruptions in your work.”

“Amen!” shouted Chet. “’Cause let me tell you, there’s no better pigeon. And no better pal. Seriously, Gage; welcome back. I missed you, and not just because you’re an easy mark.”

“Thank you, I think,” Johnny said.

Marco came in and set a large cake on the table. “My mom made this, and asked me to tell you welcome back, and to tell you thanks for saving her boy’s ass more than once.”

Johnny laughed. “Did she actually say ‘ass?’”

“Well, not exactly. But I’ll say it. Thanks for saving all our asses. I don’t think there’s anyone here who wouldn’t be dead twice over if it weren’t for you,” Marco said.

“Except maybe me, but I’ll second that anyhow,” Mike said. “Anyone who knows you at all knows that when you’ve got that game face of yours on, you’re the best. The team wasn’t the same without you. A lot quieter, maybe, but not in a good way. I’m glad to see you back.”

“I think I’m gladder than anyone,” Roy said. “We’re a team, you and me. It’ll probably take me a couple shifts to stop actually asking you for things you’re about to hand me anyhow, because nobody reads my mind like you.”

“Thanks, guys,” Johnny said. “I’m so glad to be back you can’t even imagine. And you guys might not know this, but I owe a whole lot to Mike, who was pretty much my coach and my slave driver for the last two months, getting me back in shape. There were times when I was ready to give up, and take a desk job, or go back to school, if you can imagine that, but he didn’t let me. So thanks, Mike. And thanks, Cap, for working it out so I could get my same assignment back.”

There was a slightly awkward moment of silence.

Mike slid a knife across the table to Johnny. “All right, Gage; cut it.”

Their fingertips touched as Johnny took the knife, but they both knew better than to linger. Johnny sliced up the cake, and everyone had more than one piece.

“That was terrific,” Johnny said, after washing down his third piece with a glass of milk. “Please say thanks to your mom, Marco.”

“Sure thing. She made a double recipe, so lucky me—there’s a whole ‘nother one at—”

BWAAAAAM, BWOOOM BWEEEEEP!

Everyone groaned as the station was toned out for a car fire in a parking lot.

An hour later, the crew returned, and everyone pitched in to clean up the kitchen. “Lights out in fifteen, boys,” Cap said. “Anyone who needs the phone before then, keep it short.”

Roy and Marco took turns with the phone in the dorms, while Cap wrote up his report from the car fire, and Chet went outside for some air before lights out. That left Mike and Johnny with the first turn at the side-by-side sinks in the bathroom. 

Johnny watched, keeping one eye on the doorway, as Mike started to take off his uniform shirt before washing up. He remembered, from all those months ago, that it was just part of Mike’s nightly routine at the station. But suddenly, it was incredibly sexy, rather than mundane. Johnny stood there silently, watching Mike’s every move. They locked eyes in the mirror as Mike licked his lips as he slowly undid the last button, slid the shirt off his shoulders, and hung it on the hook next to the sink he was using. They brushed their teeth, catching each other’s eyes in the mirror from time to time. They both jumped as Chet charged into the room. Mike couldn’t help laughing at the expression on Johnny’s face, and Johnny laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation they’d just engineered for themselves.

“What?” Chet said.

“Nothing, Chet,” Johnny said. “Nothing.”

“I walk in the room, and you both start laughing, and it’s nothing?”

“Yep,” Mike said. “Unless you want to make it _into_ something.” He bent down to the sink, splashing water on his face to rinse off the soap.

Chet pretended to consider the offer. “Thanks, but I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll pass.” He entered the toilet stall and closed the door.

Johnny finished washing his face, and dried it with his towel. 

“Oh, shit!” Mike said, unable to keep from laughing, as Johnny turned to hang his towel on a hook in his locker.

Johnny sighed and turned to the mirror. His face and hair were covered with white powder. 

“Crap.” 

He sniffed his towel carefully, but couldn’t identify the substance. 

“Kelly!” Johnny bellowed.

“Yes?” Chet said sweetly, from the protection of the locked toilet stall.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS ON MY TOWEL?!”

“Just a little tempera paint powder. Doesn’t stain. Completely water soluble. Shower’s all yours, babe.”

“I don’t have TIME for a shower! I didn’t WANT to take a shower! I wanted to go to BED!” 

Johnny started the water running. “Fuck,” he grumbled. “Now I have to go to bed with wet hair. Get up lookin’ like a freakshow.”

 _And I don’t have the patience or self control to stand around while he’s in the shower again_ , Mike thought.

“Hey, Stoker,” Johnny shouted from the shower, “would you mind, like, standing guard, so he doesn’t do something to me while I’m in here?”

Shit. “Uh …” There was no way he could answer that question. A “yes” was out of the question, and “no” would cause other problems. “Um … I kind of need to make a phone call.”

“Yeah,” Chet called from his safe haven in the stall. “He calls his girlfriend every night.”

“A _phone_ call?” Johnny yelled. “Jesus, Mikey! Are you _in_ on this?”

“No way! Look—I’ll get Roy to stand guard, okay?”

“Fine,” Johnny crabbed. “And damn it, I don’t have another fucking towel!”

“I have a spare in my locker. You can have that one. I’ll, uh, give it to Roy. That’ll be a better idea.” Mike desperately hoped Johnny would catch on to his dilemma. If not, he might go to bed mad, and they’d have to work it out in the morning.

Mike fled the bathroom, and went through to the locker room to hang his shirt up, and to get the extra towel. He continued on through to the dorms, where Roy was just getting off the phone with Joanne.

Roy saw what looked like panic in Mike’s eyes.

“Mike? What’s the matter? I heard yelling—everything okay?”

Mike whispered just loudly enough for Roy to hear. “Look—Chet just pranked Johnny, and he got covered in white paint powder, so he had to get in the shower, and he wants me to stand guard, while he’s in there _naked_ , and I just _can’t_ , and I don’t think he understands my problem, and you’re the only one who I can tell that to, so could you please—”

Roy chuckled. “Looks like Chet killed two pigeons with one prank, and didn’t even know it!”

“Just—just do it, please?” He thrust the towel at Roy.

“All right.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Roy said. 

Mike sped through the locker room, and straight through the day room into the dark parking lot. He sat on the hood of his pickup truck, with his feet on the front bumper, and put his head in his hands. Once again, he tried to think of anything, anything but Johnny in the shower.

Of all the things he’d thought of that would be difficult about working together, for some reason, he’d never thought of this particular problem. 

He’d thought of having to keep his eyes off Johnny when he was, say, going up a ladder. He’d contrived an excuse to move his locker so his and Johnny’s were separated by an entire bank of lockers, so they’d never be stripping next to each other. He mentally smacked himself for his little performance with the shirt a few minutes ago; they’d agreed that that sort of thing would be strictly forbidden. He hadn’t meant to do it; he was just … taking his shirt off, just like always. But it kind of … turned into something. 

“Mike?”

Mike nearly fell off the truck.

“Geez, Cap. Warn a guy.”

“You okay? Marco said you just kind of stormed out here.”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just needed a little fresh air. Okay, it’s L.A. No fresh air. But a little space, you know?”

“Kelly can kind of make a room seem smaller than it is when he’s in full swing,” Cap said. 

“Uh huh.” Mike didn’t have a problem agreeing with that.

“It was inevitable, you know, that he’d go after Johnny in a big way today. It’s his way of showing affection.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Gage can take it,” Cap said. “He’s a big boy.”

“I know. It doesn’t bother me.”

“ _Something_ bothered you, though.”

Mike sighed. A _lot_ of things bothered him. Like the thought of Johnny, naked in the shower, _again_ , his hands combing through his thick, dark hair, his long neck stretching as he turned his face up to the water, streams of hot water sheeting down his smooth—

Shit.

 _Stop it, Mikey,_ he thought. _Just stop it._ He made an angry huffing sound that he hoped Cap would misinterpret. Yeah, a lot of things bothered him, all right. 

There _was_ one thing he could say to Cap, though; something that bothered him but was a safe topic. “What bothers me, is that I laughed. Both times, when Chet pranked Johnny, I laughed too. And we’re supposed to be good friends.”

“My guess is that John won’t hold it against you.”

 _I hope he’ll hold_ something _against me_ , Mike thought, before mentally slapping himself on the wrist again. _Stop, stop, stop!_

“Yeah. Probably not.”

Cap clapped Mike on the shoulder. “Don’t stay out too long, pal.”

“I won’t.”

Back in the locker room, Roy stood, arms crossed, watching Chet’s every move as he brushed his teeth.

“Hey Roy, can you hand me that towel?” Johnny called from inside the shower stall.

Roy passed the towel over the shower stall door.

“Thanks,” Johnny said. He toweled himself off quickly, trying to ignore the fact that the towel smelled like Mike’s laundry detergent, and therefore like Mike’s clothes, and therefore like Mike. _Yum,_ Johnny thought. _Kinda makes me wanna go jump him right now._ He found himself regretting bringing up that line of thinking. He looked at the cold water faucet, and imagined turning it on, full blast. That did the trick. And something clicked in his mind. “Oh,” Johnny said out loud. “Oh! No wonder.”

“You just figured it out, huh?” Roy said dryly.

“Um. Yeah.” Johnny emerged from the shower with his towel around his waist, and pulled out a clean pair of shorts and a clean white t-shirt from his locker. 

“Figured what out?” Chet asked.

“Nothing,” Roy and John said in unison. 

“Uh huh. Seems to be a lot of that going around tonight,” Chet said. “I’m turning in. No hard feelings, huh?”

Johnny laughed out loud at Chet’s word choice, as he put on his shorts and t-shirt, thinking about that cold water again.

“What is _with_ you today?” Chet said.

“Don’t worry—I won’t kill you. Not yet,” Johnny said. “I need some time to think up the perfect revenge, is all.” He rubbed the towel over his head a couple more times, and hung it in his locker, forcing himself not to put it over his face and inhale. “And, actually, Kelly—wait up a sec. You’re gonna turn the sheets and blankets down on my bunk, while I’m watching.”

“Sure thing, Gage. I didn’t actually do anything to your bunk. But I’ll be happy to prove it.”

“Please do.”

Cap and Marco were having their turn at the sinks, and didn’t notice as Mike slid past silently, carrying the bundle of boots and bunker pants by the straps on the tops of the boots. Mike entered the dorm, and saw Chet, Roy, and Johnny standing by Johnny’s bunk.

“See?” Chet said. “I didn’t do anything. There’s nothing there.”

“Get in,” Mike said, causing them all to turn around, as nobody but Johnny had noticed Mike’s return to the building.

“Huh?” Chet said.

“You could’ve put itching powder on the sheets, or flour, or powdered salt, or something like that. So get in,” Mike repeated.

Chet rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He climbed into the bunk, pulled the covers up, and then reversed the process and got out again. “Satisfied?”

“I guess so,” Johnny said. He settled into his bunk. “Well, g’night, everyone. ‘s good to be back.”

Mike sighed, envying, for the hundredth time, Johnny’s ability to fall asleep instantly. With the exception of one odd period of time a couple years back, he never seemed to have the trouble that many firemen did, of feeling like as soon as they fell asleep, the tones would drop, so why bother even trying? Mike arranged his boots so they pointed the right direction, and so that the suspenders weren’t caught under the soles of the boots. There was very little that was more annoying at three in the morning than falling flat on your face because you were trying to pull up suspenders you were standing on, for crying out loud.

Mike tucked himself into his bunk, closed his eyes, and tried not to obsess. Johnny didn’t _seem_ mad at him. But he’d also pretty much ignored him, just now. But that was also kind of their plan—not to pay any more attention to each other than they ever had. But … but … but. But any discussion would have to wait until tomorrow.

Cap and Marco came into the room.

“Lights are going out, unless anyone needs another minute,” Cap said. There were no replies, so he shut the lights off from his bunk.

The bunk room was quiet for three entire hours, until the engine was toned out for an alarm activation. Johnny was instantly awake, but was able to get back to sleep relatively easily. Neither he nor Roy woke when the engine crew crept back into the bunk room twenty minutes later.

Just after four, the paramedics were rousted from their bunks for a restaurant employee who’d cut his hand deeply doing prep work for the breakfast shift. Johnny had controlled the bleeding with direct pressure and a pressure bandage, but the man had declined ambulance transport.

“I know, I know I need stitches, but I don’t have insurance, so I’m just gonna call my wife to take me. Is that allowed?” the patient said.

“Sure. We’re required to inform you of the risks, though. You could start bleeding again, between now and when you get to the hospital. Major blood loss can be serious. Also, we can’t tell in the field if you’ve damaged the tendons that connect muscle to bone. You do need to be seen right away, because by delaying treatment the risk of complications increases. Complications could include more bleeding, infection, further damage to the tissues, poor healing, and poorer cosmetic results with any eventual stitching. Do you understand this information?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not gonna sue anyone. And I’ll go as soon as my wife gets here.”

“We just need you to sign this form, stating that you’ve declined transport, and that we informed you of the possible risks of declining transport.”

The man signed the refusal form, Johnny and Roy cleaned up their medical debris, and everyone went on their way.

Roy climbed into the driver’s seat, and waited a few seconds after Johnny closed the door on the passenger’s side before pulling away.

“Hey, Roy?”

“Uh huh?”

“How’d me and Mikey do today? Did we slip up at all, do you think?”

“Well, there was the thing with the shower. But nobody would’ve thought anything of that.”

“But _you_ noticed it,” Johnny said. “I mean, I didn’t get the problem, at first. But then I got to thinking, and I realized what the problem was. But, uh, what made you notice?”

Roy grinned. “Oh, just your panicked boyfriend quietly begging me to stand guard, very awkwardly avoiding saying what the problem was.”

“But other than that—did either one of us do anything weird?”

“No, your behavior has been beyond reproach. I’m almost worried how distant you two seemed, after seeing you together—like, _together_ together, a couple times.”

“Yeah. Well, we agreed we wouldn’t get mad at one another about kind of ignoring each other at work. Just like we always did.” Johnny sighed. “But I didn’t like pretending I barely knew him.”

They drove in the 4-a.m. silence for another minute. 

“So how weird is it? Pretending to be distant?”

Johnny shook his head. “Pretty bad, Roy. And I bet it’s worse for Mikey. I guess the really tough part is that I keep having stuff I wanna say to him, you know, just little things, but I can’t, because me and him, we weren’t that way with each other before, so it’d be weird to suddenly be all chummy on the job.”

Roy digested that statement. “No reason you couldn’t be. I mean, the other guys all know you two have been hanging out. And that Mike helped you out a lot with getting fit again. Just as long as you’re careful of what you say, and how you say it, I don’t see why you couldn’t be … what was your word? Chummy.”

Johnny scowled out the windshield. “I dunno. Seems risky.”

“Listen. What if … I don’t know. What if I tried to get Mike to talk a little more? Maybe if he starts talking to me _and_ to you, that won’t seem as risky. What do you think?”

“Huh,” Johnny said, his scowl fading. “Now that’s not a terrible idea.”

“Thanks,” Roy said dryly. 

“No, seriously—Mike’s been talking about maybe trying to be a little less standoffish at work, and you came up as the easiest one for him to start talking to. So … yeah, that’s a good idea, actually. And you’ll know what to stay away from, too.”

Roy backed the squad into the apparatus bay. The engine was gone, so Johnny checked the call log.

“Another alarm activation,” he said.

They returned quietly to their bunks, hoping to make it through until the wakeup tones.

At 0628, two minutes before the wakeup tones would have sounded, the entire station was toned out to an MVA on the highway just behind the station. It wasn’t serious, and nobody needed to be transported to the hospital, so the crew arrived back at the station within less than an hour. 

Mike pulled the reel line from the wall of the apparatus bay, and rinsed down both the vehicles. Marco followed up by squeegeeing the water out of the bay and onto the sloped cement apron in front of the station. They left the bay doors open, as the weather was perfect.

C-shift’s Captain arrived just as the pot of coffee Roy put on was ready. He and Captain Stanley retreated to the office to go over the last shift, while the rest of the men sat at the table with their coffee mugs.

“Well, how was your first shift back, Gage?” Marco asked.

“Fine, just fine, with two glaring exceptions,” Johnny said.

“One pink exception, and one white one, huh?” Mike said.

“Yep.”

“All in good fun, right?” Chet said.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Sure, Chet. Sure.” And it was. Really, the pranks caused minor, temporary annoyance. And they never happened off duty, and Chet was a fun guy to hang out with off shift. 

But he wasn’t who Johnny was thinking about hanging out with after this shift. While drinking his morning coffee, Johnny had been thinking about what he wanted to do with and to Mike when they got back to the apartment after the shift. He didn’t let his mind wander too far into fantasy-land, since (a) there were still 15 minutes left until the end of the shift, so Cap could still say something about his hair, and (b) he’d done pretty well for the last 24 hours at not thinking about anything that might cause an embarrassing reaction, and he wanted to keep that track record going.

C-shift’s crew started trickling in. Each man stopped to say something to Johnny. By 0755, C-shift was present and accounted for, with the exception of their engineer, who was chronically late, in opposition to Mike’s habits.

The two captains emerged from the office. 

“Stoker, Edwards isn’t here yet, as usual. You mind sticking around until he shows up, a few minutes late?”

“Sure, Cap, no problem. Just add it to his tab.”

C-shift’s captain had started fining his perpetually tardy engineer a dollar a minute for tardiness, and making him pay up to the B-shift and A-shift engineers when the tab reached twenty dollars for either one of them. Of course, if there was a run, the substitute engineer could put in for overtime, but most of the time that didn’t happen.

Mike stayed at the table in his blues, sipping his coffee, while the rest of the crew went back to the locker room to change into their civvies. 

At 0804, Edwards skidded into the day room. “Sorry, sorry!” He looked at the clock. “Four bucks on my tab.”

“Yep. Have a good shift,” Mike said, setting his coffee cup in the sink for Edwards to deal with later.

The rest of the A-shift returned from the locker room, dressed in their regular clothes. 

“Have a good couple days, fellows,” said Cap. “And John?”

Johnny turned back to Cap. “Yeah, Cap?”

“Get a haircut, will ya?”

Johnny froze, and didn’t turn around to look at Mike. The bet was lost, but considering what the stakes were, he didn’t think it could turn out badly. He’d just have to wait for Mike to show up at the apartment, and then he’d find out what Mike had in store for him.

**TBC**


	23. Stakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is total PWP. ~~Sorry about that!~~

**Chapter 23: Stakes**

What with one thing and another, Mike came in the apartment door about ten minutes after Johnny did. Mike approached Johnny to kiss him, but Johnny stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“I know, I know,” Mike said. “You’re mad about the thing with the shower. I knew it. But let me explain—after the drills, when you were in the shower for the _first_ time, I was in the kitchen chopping onions, and … well, I suddenly realized you were naked in the shower, and then I had this instant hard-on, in the kitchen of the station, right? And I had to talk myself out of it _real_ fast, ‘cause Cap came in, and—”

Johnny laughed. “I’m not _mad_. Geez, you’ve been worrying about that all night, haven’t you? I figured out what the problem was, once I thought about it for five seconds. And the eye roll I got from Roy when I got out of the shower explained it all.”

“Oh.” Mike was all revved up to defend himself, so when it turned out Johnny understood after all, he had no idea what to say.

“But I’ll tell ya, the thing with the shirt was a dirty trick, Stoker. The exact kind of thing we said we weren’t gonna do.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to do it,” Mike said. “I was just unbuttoning my shirt, and then you were kind of … _watching_ , and then suddenly I wasn’t _just_ unbuttoning my shirt.”

“You sure weren’t.”

“Won’t happen again.”

“I bet it will.”

Mike considered what Johnny said. “Yeah, I guess maybe something like that probably _will_ happen again, won’t it.”

“Yep. Not on purpose. And subtle enough that nobody will notice.”

“Also—you won the bet, Gage.”

“Huh? But Cap told me to get a haircut, just as we were all leaving. I’d say _you_ won.”

Mike shook his head. “The shift was over by a couple minutes. He definitely noticed your hair being too long, but he didn’t say anything until the shift was over. So I concede, and you win.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “I do, huh?”

“Yep.”

“So I can … start whatever kind of thing I want?”

“Uh huh. Any time now. Or,” Mike joked, “you could wait till later, if you didn’t want to do it now.”

“Are you kidding me? I had it all planned out, see, and then Cap went and said what he said. But if you say I win, I’m not gonna argue. Don’t move,” Johnny said, as he dashed out of the room, leaving Mike standing there just inside the front door.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mike said to the empty room.

Johnny returned thirty seconds later.

“Close your eyes,” Johnny said.

“Huh?” Mike could see Johnny had something behind his back, and craned his neck to look.

“Nuh-uh, Stoker. No peeking. Just do it.”

“Okay.” Mike cooperated and closed his eyes. He heard a quiet rustling sound, and felt a soft piece of fabric cover his eyes. “Oooh, kinky!”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Johnny said, chuckling, as he secured the knot.

“Literally.”

“Weeeeeell, the way I figure it is, we just had a whole day of look-but-don’t-touch, and don’t-even-really-look, either. So I thought it’d be fair to balance that out with some touch-but-don’t-look.” Johnny half-led, half-pushed Mike to the bedroom, and closed the door behind them. He stood Mike halfway between the door and the bed, and started removing Mike’s clothing.

He started with the shirt—easy, since Mike’s civvies for the day were jeans and a polo shirt. But even so, Johnny took his time untucking the shirt and sliding it up. He made sure the blindfold went nowhere when he passed Mike’s shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

Next, Mike would be expecting Johnny to go for his belt buckle, so that’s exactly what Johnny didn’t do. He stood back a couple of feet from Mike, and just waited for few seconds, not making a sound. 

“You still there?”

Johnny crept silently around behind Mike, and, without touching him otherwise, nuzzled the back of his neck. Johnny could see Mike’s hair stand up on end, and saw his arms break out in goosebumps. 

“It was a weird feeling,” Johnny whispered into Mike’s ear, “having you right there next to me all day and all night, but missing you like crazy.”

Mike leaned back into Johnny. “Yeah. Missed you too.”

“We were good, though,” Johnny said, reaching around to Mike’s belt buckle. “Very, very good, and very, very careful.”

“Mostly,” Mike said.

“So I think we’ve earned the right to be bad for a little while, don’t you?”

“Not gonna argue with that logic, Gage.”

Johnny unfastened the buckle, the button, and the zipper, but stopped there, and backed away silently. He praised the solid cement construction of the apartment building as he was able to sneak back around in front of Mike again, with no creaking or shifting of the floor to give away his movements.

Mike turned his head to try to peer behind him, apparently forgetting that the blindfold would stop him seeing anything anyhow. Johnny grinned, and leaned in close. His tongue flicked out and swiped once across Mike’s right nipple, eliciting a gasp. Johnny backed away before Mike could reach him with his hands, and ducked behind Mike again. This time he planted a kiss right between Mike’s shoulder blades, and nibbled his way down to the small of his back, before disappearing again.

Mike stood there, feeling himself becoming impossibly turned on, as he waited for the next touch. He heard a soft rustling sound, and a quiet thunk, and then nothing.

“Hold your hands out,” Johnny said, from somewhere nearby.

Mike cooperated, and held his hands out palms up. Something soft and warm was placed into one of his hands. He took the item in both hands, to feel what it was, and chuckled.

“Those are your shorts.”

“Yep.”

“And they’re not on you anymore.”

“Nope.”

Mike tossed the boxers over his shoulder, towards what he thought might be the laundry basket, just as he felt Johnny’s hands grasp the open waistband of his jeans. He could tell from the angle of the pull, and then from the feathery touch of Johnny’s bet-winning hair on his hip, that Johnny was on the floor, pulling downwards. Oddly, _imagining_ Johnny naked, on his knees, in front of him, was a thousand times more intoxicating to Mike at that moment than actually _seeing_ him would have been. Mike breathed shakily as he cooperatively lifted one foot, then the other, to step out of the last of his clothing. His heart pounded as he waited to see what was going to happen next. _No, not to see,_ he thought _; to feel._

He thought he felt warmth radiating from behind him—and he was right. A chill shot down Mike’s spine as warm lips nibbled his earlobe. 

“You’re so gorgeous, standing there, I just don’t even know where to start,” Johnny whispered. 

Mike leaned back into Johnny. “Start wherever you like. That’s what my shrink always says.”

“Well, he’s always sounded to me like a smart guy.”

Mike shivered as Johnny’s hands reached around his waist, and traveled up his chest. Johnny took a small step forwards, and his erect cock nudged the top of Mike’s ass. They were exactly the same height, but proportioned differently enough that completely different things happened when they stood behind each other, depending on who was in back and who was in front.

“Wherever I like, huh?” Johnny said thoughtfully. “Let’s see …”

Mike’s back felt cold as Johnny disappeared from behind him again. He just about shot through the ceiling when something warm grazed both of his nipples at the same time. He reached out, and felt Johnny’s hands on his chest, just barely touching him.

“Hm, I think you’re cheating, actually. ‘Cause hands can see, too. So hands down for now, Mikey.”

Mike definitely did _not_ make the whimpering sound he heard as he followed Johnny’s instructions. Or again, as one nipple felt hot and wet, then cold. The other got a different treatment, equally stimulating, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.

And then the warmth radiating off Johnny was gone again. But only for a second.

Hands palmed Mike’s ass, from an angle low enough that it put Johnny on the floor again, from what Mike could tell. His brain was working just enough to try to figure out what was going on, but was quickly fading out. The hands slid between his thighs, applying gentle pressure. Mike stepped one leg to the side, to allow the unseen hands the access they were seeking.

Johnny knew right where to go with his hands. It drove Mike crazy, every time, if he got anywhere near the line where his inner thighs met his perineum, so he went straight there using one hand to stroke one inner thigh, then the other, while his other hand held Mike still at a hipbone. He carefully avoided touching Mike’s balls or dick; he was saving those for a little while later.

One of Mike’s hands came down to cover the hand Johnny had placed at a hip; Johnny decided to allow that. He continued with his work with his other hand for a little while, and then pulled both hands away again. He moved around in front of Mike again, where he could see Mike’s chest rising and falling rapidly, and the pulse point in his neck pounding away. Johnny applied a gentle bite to Mike’s neck, and then soothed it with a line of kisses. He let his kisses trail downwards to a collarbone, and then farther down to pay properly lengthy attention, this time, to a nipple. 

Johnny once again allowed Mike’s hands to take part, as they began combing through the hair that had won Johnny the privilege of starting this game. Johnny worked each nipple for a while, knowing that Mike really got off on that, and this morning was no exception. He took turns on each side, enjoying the sounds he was hearing, as well as the feeling of Mike’s hard, hot cock tapping him on the belly from time to time.

“Jesus, Johnny, you’re killing me here … ”

“That’s okay—I can resuscitate you.” With that thought, Johnny pulled away from Mike’s chest, ignoring Mike’s whimper of protest, and caught Mike’s bottom lip between his teeth. “A little preventive mouth-to-mouth might help.”

He took Mike’s hands and put them back down at his sides, and kissed Mike long and slow, but kept their bodies apart. He pulled away, and stepped back. He stayed away for nearly a minute, to let the anticipation build. He returned, as quietly as possible, and knelt in front of Mike, careful to move slowly and silently. Once he was sure Mike didn’t know how close Johnny was to him, he leaned in and let the tip of his tongue flick out across the very tip of Mike’s cock, sliding through the drop of pre-come that was leaking from the slit, just once.

Mike groaned at the sudden contact, and reached out desperately for Johnny, but Johnny was too fast.

Johnny stayed back for a few seconds, and then crept up again, head tilted, and firmly licked a broad stripe up Mike’s cock, from balls to tip, and then swirled the tip of his tongue around the head, just once, before pulling away again, just in time to avoid Mike’s reaching hands. He repeated his advance/retreat pattern, again and again, trying to be as random as possible with what he did each time, so Mike could never predict what was coming next. 

After a while, Johnny could see Mike’s leg muscles quivering, so he decided to give them a break. He took Mike by the hips, and gently pushed him backwards towards the bed. He wouldn’t be able to be as stealthy on the bed, but it was time to finish off that part of the game anyhow.

He stretched Mike out on his back, with several pillows propping his head and shoulders up, and straddled him, holding both of Mike’s hands up over his head lightly with one hand.

Mike rarely got to the begging point, but this time he couldn’t help it. “Please, babe, I’m begging you, put me out of my misery, please!”

Johnny chuckled again, his voice husky with desire. “You don’t look miserable to me. Very, _very_ hot and bothered, but not miserable.”

“Please!” Mike begged. 

Johnny answered him by lowering his weight to cover Mike’s body, matching length for length, and letting Mike’s hands go, to do what they pleased. Johnny’s mouth covered Mike’s, and their tongues slicked against each other, mimicking the movements their hips were making below. Johnny pulled back again, and dragged his open lips down the center of Mike’s chest and belly. He held Mike’s cock by the base, and lapped at it until he’d gotten it as wet as he could, drinking in Mike’s groans, and letting him do whatever he wanted with his hands.

Finally, Johnny couldn’t take it any more himself, either, and pulled himself up to straddle Mike’s hips again. He dove down to cover Mike’s mouth with one more long kiss, and at the same time slid the fabric blindfold off his eyes. He knew from experience that Mike really, really liked to watch the main action.

Johnny settled his weight partly on his own knees, and partly across Mike’s upper legs, so their balls nestled together, and their cocks lined up head to head. He took them both in his hand, and started working his hand up and down, slowly at first, but with firm pressure. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck …” Mike groaned, as he reached for Johnny’s free hand. 

Johnny didn’t resist as Mike pulled his hand up to his lips and sucked on the middle three fingers, letting them go once they were slick with saliva. He didn’t have to ask what Mike wanted; he knew. His eyes rolled back slightly as he let his slick fingers circle gently over the sensitive heads of their cocks, mingling four separate body fluids and wringing groans from both of them. 

He sped up the pace with his other hand, and his hooded gaze met Mike’s eyes. He loved seeing Mike’s normally gray-blue eyes look almost black, huge pupils surrounded by thin annuli of blue. Mike’s hands were clutching at whatever he could reach—sheets, knees, anything. His whole body got tenser, and Johnny had to shift his weight to hold Mike down as he came, spurting semen up to his chest, and shouting loudly enough that, if Johnny had any wits left about him at all, he might have worried what the neighbors would think, even through the concrete between the apartments. As always, seeing, hearing, and feeling Mike come put Johnny over the edge. 

Johnny collapsed forwards, and they lay there in a cluster of limbs and torsos, not concerned about whose was whose. Mike slid the tips of his fingers up and down Johnny’s back, and they kissed, breathing hard through their noses.

Holding onto Johnny’s body to keep them together, Mike rolled them onto their sides. 

“How come even though you won that bet, it feels like I got the prize?”

“Let’s call it a tie,” Johnny suggested, “since it was kinda borderline anyhow.”

“’kay.” Mike nuzzled in to Johnny’s neck, and Johnny stroked the back of his head. “Man, that was something, babe.”

“See, now, every now and then it’s kinda nice to not be in charge, huh?”

Mike laughed. “Yeah, you got me there.”

“I think I’ve got you right where I want you,” Johnny said.

“Makes two of us, babe,” Mike said sleepily.

Johnny sat up. “Be right back. Gotta get us cleaned up before we conk out.”

He returned with two damp cloths, and they cleaned themselves up. Johnny tossed the washcloths in the hamper, and returned to the bed, wrapping himself around Mike’s 

“Johnny?” Mike said, forcing his eyes open one last time.

“Yeah?”

“Glad you’re back. I was worried, how it might be, but I think it’s gonna work out.”

“Me too. We’ll make it work.”

“For sure.” Mike pulled Johnny closer, and they nestled together like spoons in a drawer. “Alarm set?”

“Yep. One o’clock, just how you like it.”

“’kay.” Mike inhaled the scent of the back of Johnny’s neck, and Johnny wriggled his body even closer.

“Love you,” Johnny said.

“Me too. Now let’s get some shuteye.”

**TBC**

  
  



	24. The Daily Grind

**Chapter 24: The Daily Grind**

  
  


_The next shift._

Mike was reading, sitting on the couch in the day room, when the squad returned from a long run. They’d been sent to a farming accident in a far corner of 51’s district, and they’d been out for over two hours when the bay door-opener’s motor suddenly rumbled to life. Henry, who was lounging next to Mike, picked his head up ever so slightly, and then plopped it back down. 

“Boy, they were gone for a long time,” Marco commented from the kitchen counter, where he was working on dinner. 

“Yeah, I wonder what that run was all about?” Chet said, from his place at the table, where he was looking over a manual.

Johnny came in and headed straight to the fridge. “Wouldn’t mind if we didn’t see one like that for a while,” he commented, as he poured himself a glass of milk. He moved towards the couch, and looked at Henry.

“Down,” he said, snapping his fingers and pointing at the floor.

Henry just stared at him dolefully, and stretched his long body out further across the two-thirds of the couch he clearly felt entitled to.

“Ah, forget it,” he muttered, as he stood in front of the table.

“What was the run?” Mike asked.

“Guy got his arm caught in some farm machinery. It was pretty grim,” Johnny said, and the look in his eyes made Mike want to grab him and hug him, kiss away the memory of the incident. Johnny finished his glass of milk, refilled it, and disappeared out the kitchen door.

Mike knew Johnny was going to go sit on the hood of his Rover, which was his habit when he needed to decompress from a bad run. Roy was probably sitting on a bench in the back of the locker room, which was his preferred brooding spot.

Mike let a minute or two pass, then closed his magazine and went out to the bay. He went through the back door to the parking lot. Sure enough, Johnny was perched on the hood of his vehicle, staring off into space. He looked up, probably having seen movement out of the corner of his eye, and moved to one side of the hood of the Rover, making room for Mike, who sat down next to him, not nearly as close as he wanted to.

“It was awful, Mikey,” Johnny said quietly. “He’s gonna lose the arm for sure. I’ll spare you the details on that. But the rescue itself was one of the worst I’d seen. Guy was in absolute agony—we gave him as much morphine as we could in the field, but it really just took the edge off. Even got permission from Rampart to sedate him more heavily than we’d normally do in the field, which took the edge off the anxiety but didn’t touch the pain. We had to take the machinery apart around him, and it took fucking forever, and the poor kid was screaming his head off the whole time.”

“It was a kid?” Mike said, paling further.

“Well, he’s twenty. So not a child, but still. Real young. Real scared.” Johnny ran a hand through his hair and scowled, still not used to the shortness of his mane. “He knew his arm was history, even before we could see it.”

They sat next to each other on the hood, Johnny desperately wanting Mike’s comforting touch, and Mike equally desperately wanting to give it. 

“And then in the rig on the way in, he was kind of in and out, you know? And he was crying, telling me how he was gonna marry his girl in a couple months, but there was no way she’d have a one-armed husband. And there was nothin’ I could say or do to make anything any better. Nothin’.”

“You did make it better than it was before you got there, Johnny,” Mike said. “You got him out of there. You and Roy did everything you could to give him the best chance. He’s not dead.”

Johnny blew out a long breath. “He wanted to be,” he said. “He said so in the rig. That he wished he’d bled to death.”

“Ah, geez,” Mike said. “And there’s nothing you can say when someone feels like that. Not in the heat of the moment. He’ll feel differently in a while, hopefully, but not at the moment.”

“Exactly.” 

They sat there silently on the hood of the Rover. After a minute or so, Johnny drained his second glass of milk, and set the glass down behind him.

“Wish I could take you home,” Mike said quietly.

“Me too. Now would be great, but that’s not gonna happen. How ‘bout tomorrow morning?”

“You’re on.” Mike looked Johnny in the eye, and reached his hand up, looking like he was going to touch Johnny’s face, and lowered it immediately. “Gaaah. I hate this.”

Johnny shook his head. “I’m glad you came out. Thanks for coming out. It helped, to talk to you. Have you sitting next to me.”

“Yeah?” Mike said.

“Yeah. The rest’ll keep, ya know?”

“Yeah.” Mike smiled, ever so slightly. “I guess so. And I guess I better go back in, too. I’ll take the back door again.”

“I guess I’ll go in the side door in a minute. Ridiculous. But there we are.”

“There we are,” Mike said, as he hopped off the hood. “Don’t stay out too long. It’s hot.”

“I won’t.”

Mike went back into the bay, and did a quick walkaround of the engine, opening each compartment, just to make some noise. He went into the locker room area and used the bathroom, and was washing his hands at the sink when Roy appeared at the adjacent sink, splashing water on his face.

“Mike, he’s probably, uh …” Roy said, and stopped, not knowing what else he could say in public.

Mike just nodded. “I was just out there. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Roy said, and dried his face on his towel.

“You okay?” Mike asked.

“Eventually. Thanks for asking.”

~!~!~!~

_Three shifts later_

The tones dropped at five in the morning, just before it started to get light out, sending the entire station to a brush fire in another part of the county.

“You know what this means,” Johnny said to Roy, as they headed out in the squad.

“That they’re gonna look for guys to stay and pull a double shift? Have B-shift show up in their own vehicles?”

“Yep,” Johnny said. “You gonna pull a double?”

Roy shook his head. “No way. This is Saturday morning, pal. An actual weekend off with the family? Not gonna pass that up for some OT pay. Not at this point. How about you?”

Johnny scratched his head. “Well, the wallet’s feelin’ pretty thin at the moment. So probably. I’ll discuss it with Mike, somehow.”

Roy laughed. “Discuss, as in, you look at him and raise your left eyebrow, and then he tilts his head, and you nod, and he nods? Like the ‘discussion’ about whether you’d go along with Chet and Marco for breakfast the other day?”

Johnny scowled. “Well, what’re we supposed to do? Retreat into the dorms for a private chat? That’d really be subtle.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh,” Roy said. 

“No, you shouldn’t,” Johnny agreed. 

It took them nearly an hour to get to the site of the fire, which brought up the question of whether there might be mandatory overtime coming into play. The area they were in was a grassy, hilly expanse, with some trees on the ridges. It was a dry time of year, and the grass crackled under their feet. They could easily see the smoke from the fire, about a mile away. The A-shift crew clustered together in the heat, waiting for Cap to return from a brief conference with incident command. 

“You think they’re gonna put us on mandatory OT?” Chet said.

“Dunno,” Mike said. “I might take it, if it was voluntary OT, though,” he said, carefully not looking at Johnny.

Johnny nodded. “Me too.”

“Not me,” Marco said. “I’ve got a date tonight. So I sure as heck hope it’s voluntary. Because how would I even call her to cancel?”

“Listen up, crew,” Cap said, after he conferred with the incident commander. “Voluntary overtime for anyone who wants it. They’re calling B-shift now, to come out in their own vehicles. Who wants the OT?”

Mike and Johnny raised their hands; everyone else declined.

“That’s fine,” Cap said. “Stoker, Gage—you might as well buddy up for the rest of the shift, since you’ll be sticking around. Lopez and Kelly, you’re a team. DeSoto, you’re with me. We’re all gonna be on a digging line till the end of the shift, since we’re fresh.” 

Everyone groaned at the news. They would be using hand tools to clear away vegetation, down to non-combustible mineral earth, to make a line the fire couldn’t cross without the aid of wind. It was hard work, but on a relatively windless day it was a good tactic to keep a brush fire from spreading.

Cap continued. “Drink up, and get breaks when you need to. I don’t wanna hear about anyone pulling any macho bullshit and then passing out from the heat. Each pair is a team, and you work together, to get the job done, and not to try to outdo each other. Clear?” Cap directed his gaze at Johnny, then Chet, when he gave this particular instruction.

“Clear, Cap,” Johnny said.

The men grabbed tools from the large tent set up to house tools and refreshments. They all drank as much as they could, and then filled their canteens. All six men piled into the engine, and Mike drove along a dirt fire road to get them as close as he could to the scene.

“Okay, guys, this is it,” Cap said, when the road ended. Mike turned the engine so it was facing the way they’d come, and everyone hopped out. They quickly located the crew they were to relieve, who gratefully trudged off to their waiting vehicle.

“We’ll trade off who’s at the head of the line,” Cap said. “And remember, we’ll only be on this assignment a couple of hours, until B-shift shows to relieve us. Gage, Stoker, you’ll come back to the staging area to rehab when we’re relieved, and get new assignments.”

Everyone started swinging their tools. They worked in their pairs, cutting and ripping dry vegetation away from the line they were digging, throwing anything combustible to the fire side of the line. It wasn’t long before the men were pouring with sweat, even in the dry conditions. They took frequent drinks from their canteens, wanting to stay hydrated, but also not wanting to drain them too quickly. 

As the hours passed, Johnny and Mike didn’t talk too much, but worked in companionable silence. At one point, their team was a good ten yards from either of the other teams, so Johnny spoke quietly to Mike.

“You look hot,” he said.

“I _am_ hot,” Mike said, wiping sweat from his forehead with an equally-sweaty forearm. 

“No,” Johnny said, setting his MacLeod tool down for a moment. “I meant, you look _hot._ ” He waggled his eyebrows to make his point clear.

“You’re ridiculous,” Mike said. “I look sweaty, and sooty, and filthy, and probably cranky, too.”

“You still look sexy to me,” Johnny said, grinning. 

Mike took the opportunity to have a drink from his canteen. Johnny watched raptly, as Mike exposed his neck while tipping his canteen up, and a droplet of water trickled down it. 

“What?” Mike said, scowling.

“I wanna strip you down and have my way with you, right here. Right now.”

“Too bad. We’re working. And like I said, I’m cranky. And it’s too hot for handholding, let alone sex. Plus we’re both disgusting, and plus everyone we know is watching. See?” Mike tilted his head to the south, where Roy and Cap were working, and Roy was giving them a Look. Well, Mike couldn’t actually _see_ if Roy was giving him a Look, since they were fifty feet away, but he was sure he could _feel_ it.

“Yeah, all right. I was just kidding, anyhow. Except about you being sexy, no matter what you’re covered in,” Johnny said, having a swig from his own canteen.

“How ‘bout if we hold that thought, till we’re not on duty?” Mike suggested. “This kind of conversation is _supposed_ to be off limits.”

“Oh.” Johnny said, recalling their deal. “Right. You’re absolutely right. The uniform changes everything. That was our deal.”

“Which you seem to have forgotten about,” Mike said.

“Okay,” Johnny said. “This is me, getting my mind back on the job. Not that this part of the job takes much of the mind, but you know.”

“Good,” Mike said. “And you know, they’ll probably only keep us for a half-shift of OT. Send us home when it gets dark.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “If this thing isn’t wrapped up by then anyhow.”

“Looking pretty promising at the moment, but these things can change fast,” Mike said, wiping his forehead again.

Two hours later, the men from 51’s A-shift were relieved by their B-shift counterparts. Mike drove everyone back to the staging area in the engine. Reporters and cameramen from the papers and TV were swarming the staging area, getting in everyone’s way, but Mike and Johnny had no trouble grabbing some food and plenty of water at the canteen.

Mike and Johnny sat in a relatively quiet corner of the large canvas tent, and slumped in their chairs, taking a quick break before their next assignment. They didn’t mean to close their eyes, but it happened anyhow, since they’d been up all night. They were woken abruptly by a flashbulb going off in front of them. Mike glared at the reporter, who gave them a quick thumbs-up and scurried off for another photo opportunity.

“C’mon,” Johnny said. “Let’s go see what they’ve got for us.”

Johnny and Mike plodded over to the table in charge of handing out assignments, and were given the task to join a group putting out spot fires. They went to the supply area and picked up the five-gallon backpack hand-pump spray systems they’d use, filled their tanks, and joined a group about to be deployed. They sat in the back of an old army transport truck, and were driven a mile out to the head of the fire, which was rapidly being enclosed by the line being dug and bulldozed to keep the fire contained.

Their group’s commander spread them out around the perimeter of the fire’s head, where they were in charge of spraying bursts of water onto tiny fires that popped up when embers from the main fire drifted across the line that contained the fire on the ground. Each man was separated from the others by fifteen or twenty yards. The work was less grueling than digging on the line, even though they each carried eighty pounds on their backs. The weight of the pack decreased as they used the water, but it was a rude shock, each time they refilled, to feel how heavy the full can was.

After several hours, their group was sent back to the camp to rest, eat, and drink. Johnny and Mike were feeling positive, as they were there as the fire was contained by the lines, and mostly extinguished. But they were running on adrenaline, and once again, fell asleep briefly and unintentionally during their break. This time they were woken by the gentle hand of a woman from the support staff, who was in charge of rounding up people from the current shift of lunch-breaks.

“Sorry, Miss,” Johnny said. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s all right. I feel terrible waking all of you up. But the good news is, it sounds like things may wrap up later today.”

“That’s great,” Mike said. “C’mon, Johnny. Let’s plow through it.”

“Right,” Johnny said. 

They reported to the assignment table again, and were told to return to the same unit they’d come from, though this time they’d be bone-yarding—walking through the already-burned areas of the now-contained fire, making sure there were no embers remaining, and cooling hot-spots that could reignite. They remained on that assignment for three hours, when their unit was sent back to the staging area for another break.

“You feeling okay, Mike?” Johnny asked, as the truck they were riding in jounced them around on the short trip back to the staging area.

“I think I’m pretty dehydrated,” Mike admitted, “and sunburned as all hell. And I’ve had heat cramps for the last half hour or so.”

“Yeah, I noticed you had to pry your fingers off the nozzle, when you put your can down. Lemme check your vitals at the aid station.”

They stopped at the assignment table.

“My partner here’s pretty dehydrated,” Johnny said. “I’m a medic on his shift—can I take him over to the aid station and get him checked out?”

“Sure,” the officer there said. “He looks like shit.”

“Thanks,” Mike said dryly. But as they walked over to the tent where two paramedics were washing out eyes and checking vitals, he continued. “I feel like shit, too, actually.”

Johnny and Mike stood at the end of the short line, and Johnny suddenly nudged Mike with his elbow. “Looky—it’s Gil Robinson! Remember? Guy I knew from high school, who did some field time with me and Roy?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mike said. “Listen, can I get a drink while we’re waiting?”

Johnny shook his head. “They’ll wanna get your temp. And unless you want the thermometer where the sun don’t shine, you don’t get a drink quite yet. I promise—you’ll get plenty of water in about three minutes. Wouldn’t be surprised if they made you get IV rehydration, pal.”

“Aw, crap,” Mike said, rolling his eyes. “Can’t I just drink a lot of water, and rest for a few minutes?”

“Well, we’ll find out,” Johnny said, nudging Mike forward. “Hiya, Gil!”

“Johnny Gage! Lookin’ good, as always. But oh boy, your partner here better sit down.” Gil patted the chair next to him. “Sorry, I don’t remember your name—but you’re the engineer on Johnny’s shift, right?”

“Yeah, Mike Stoker. Good to see you.”

“Let’s get your vitals, Stoker,” Gil said. He handed Mike the thermometer. “Under your tongue.” 

Johnny looked at his watch and surreptitiously counted Mike’s respirations as Gil got a pulse and blood pressure.

“Respirations are eighteen,” Johnny said to Gil.

“Thanks,” Gil said, noting the number on a piece of paper. “BP 96/66, pulse 130, which is not so great. You’re sweating, which is good. Let’s give that thermometer another minute. Stoker, just nod or shake, okay? Any heat cramps?”

Mike nodded.

“Lightheadedness?”

Mike nodded again.

“Nausea?”

Mike shook his head.

“How many hours since you last urinated?”

Mike shrugged.

“Aw, c’mon, Mike. Now that I’m thinking about it, you didn’t go at lunch, did you?” Johnny said. “Or out in the field?”

Mike shook his head. 

“At the break before that?” Johnny asked.

Mike nodded.

“Sheesh. Okay, over six hours,” Johnny said. “Way to monitor your partner, Gage,” he said, shaking his head.

Gil plucked the thermometer from Mike’s mouth, and was about to say something when Mike replied to Johnny.

“It’s not like you’re my mother. You don’t have to keep track of when I piss.”

“Yeah, but I shoulda noticed sooner that—”

“All right, guys, break it up. You’re over a hundred and one, Stoker. Protocol is you gear down, get misted down, and rehydrate in the shade for an hour or until you take a leak,” Gil said. “You got him, Gage?”

“I sure do, Gil. I’ll bring him back in a little while.”

“I’m right here,” Mike grumbled. He stood up from the chair, and immediately doubled over, sitting back down on the chair. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Muscle spasms?” Johnny asked.

“Yep,” Mike bit out. “Abs.”

“All right, Mikey. Me an’ Gil are gonna help you try to sit up. You gotta stretch out those muscles.”

Mike cooperated as well as he could while Johnny and Gil pulled him upright, and stretched his abdominal muscles out of their cramps.

“Let’s get you out of your bunker pants,” Gil said. 

Johnny threw Mike a warning look, which Mike returned with a quick eyebrow raise, a silent ‘who, me?’

A few minutes later, Mike was in front of a fan, with several other exhausted, overheated firemen, drinking from his canteen. One man had an IV line running into his arm, and was holding a barf bag. 

“Mikey, I gotta go see if they want me boneyarding again,” Johnny said.

“Sure. I’ll just chill out for a while. Literally. Man, I feel like a total wimp.”

“Well, I guess maybe as an engineer you don’t get as acclimatized to the heat as the rest of us,” Johnny said.

“Maybe,” Mike said. “Anyhow, I’ll try to leave word if they send me home.”

“All right. See ya,” Johnny said.

Mike sighed, and drank some more water. An hour later, Gil called his name, and he went and sat in the chair again.

“Ninety-nine five,” Gil announced, after removing the thermometer a few minutes later. “And everything else looks better, too. You pee yet?”

“I can any time,” Mike said. “So do I get to go back out there?”

“I’ll clear you for reassignment,” Gil said, “but I think I heard they’re releasing anyone who’s on OT.”

“Oh,” Mike said. “All right. I’ll see what the assignment guy says. Thanks a lot, Robinson.”

“You’re welcome. Say hi to Gage for me when you’re on shift next.”

“Sure thing,” Mike said. He headed to the assignment table, where he was told that everyone on overtime was being released as of 1700, which was only half an hour away. 

“What station are you?” the assignment officer asked.

“51s,” Mike replied. “In Carson.”

“Okay. We’ve got a bus going down that way. Anyone else from your shift still here?”

“John Gage.”

“All right. His name’s on the list for the bus too. You know what he’s doing now?”

“We were both boneyarding till I got heat exhaustion,” Mike said. 

The officer checked his board. “Gage. Yep, he’s back there. They’ll be coming in shortly.”

Forty-five minutes later, Johnny and Mike were crammed in next to each other on an old school bus. Even with all the windows rolled down, the bus reeked of soot and sweat. Despite the smell and the noise, both Mike and Johnny fell asleep as soon as the bus started moving.

“110s!” the driver hollered, waking everyone up briefly. Four men got off, and the bus resumed its journey.

“51s!” 

Johnny shook Mike lightly to wake him up, and they grabbed their gear and went into the empty station. The squad was back, sitting in the bay and looking lonely, but Mike and Johnny passed right by it on their way to the locker room.

“Flip ya for it,” Johnny said, when they approached the shower.

“Nah, you go ahead,” Mike said. “I’ll try to drink another couple glasses of water. That bus ride didn’t do me any good.”

“All right. I’ll be fast.”

True to his word, Johnny was out of the shower in three minutes. Mike met him at the shower door with a glass of milk.

“There’s nobody here,” Mike remarked, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

“Doesn’t matter, right?” Johnny said. “I mean, we do anything in here—and I mean _anything_ —I’m never gonna be able to use this shower again. Ever.”

“You’re right. All right. I’ll just have a quick shower, and then how ‘bout if we go to your place and crash?”

“You’re on, Stoker. Maybe get a pizza on the way?”

“Hell, let’s just get one delivered, just this once,” Mike said.

An hour later, Johnny and Mike were asleep on Johnny’s couch when the doorbell rang. Johnny got up, and paid the pizza delivery guy, and put the pizza box on the coffee table in front of them. Mike was rubbing his eyes.

“I think I’ll float away if I drink any more water, but I know I’ll feel better tomorrow if I do,” he said.

“Yeah. Me too. Let’s see if we can stay awake long enough to eat. Then we can just crash, since it’s almost eight. And if we wake up early for our one day off, so be it.”

They each devoured a piece of pizza, and then another. Johnny managed a third, and then they put the rest in the refrigerator. Johnny headed past the bathroom and straight to the bedroom, but Mike grabbed him before he could get to the bed. 

“C’mon, two minutes for teeth and a piss. You won’t regret it.”

“’kay.”

Three minutes later, they were sound asleep in Johnny’s bed, tangled together, Johnny’s head on Mike’s chest.

~!~!~!~

0618, the next morning

Mike opened his eyes, and felt the bed next to him, which was empty, but still warm. He heard the toilet flushing, and then Johnny walked back into the room.

“Hey, sleepyhead! Ten hours straight of sleep—that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Johnny said, flopping down next to Mike. “You feelin’ better?”

Mike took inventory of himself, and didn’t note anything other than a pressing need to use the bathroom. “Fine. Yourself?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes, putting his feet on the floor.

“A new man,” Johnny said.

“Be right back. All that water caught up with me.”

Mike plodded off to the bathroom, and when he returned, Johnny was still sitting on the bed in his shorts, picking at one of his fingers.

“What’s up?” Mike asked. 

“Aw, it’s just I feel really bad that I didn’t notice you were getting heat exhaustion,” Johnny said.

“Well, I didn’t notice either,” Mike said, “so you shouldn’t expect yourself to have noticed. In any case, I wanted to thank you for not being a mother hen. You took me in to the aid station, but you didn’t … hover. Or fuss. Or anything like that.”

“Yeah, I had to restrain myself,” Johnny said, “but I knew you wouldn’t like hovering. I mean, don’t get me wrong—if it’d been real serious, I woulda been on you like a remora on a shark. But I didn’t figure you’d appreciate being fussed over. In fronta people, you know?”

“Thanks.”

“Can I fuss over you now?” Johnny asked.

“Long as I can fuss right back,” Mike said. “Wanna check me over, make sure everything’s really okay? See if everything’s back in service?”

“Yep.”

~!~!~!~

Later that morning, Mike and Johnny went up to Mike’s house, to do laundry, and for Mike to catch up on a few things. Mike picked up the two newspapers on his front step, and they entered the house. The air was stale after more than two days of not being disturbed by occupants.

Mike watered the plants, and started a load of laundry, while Johnny opened up that morning’s paper and started to look at the headlines.

“Hey, there’s an article on the brush fire on page 2,” Johnny said, flipping the paper open. “Let’s see what it says about …” 

Mike stuck his head back in the living room at the unexpected silence.

“Oh, shit!” Johnny said, laughing. “Oh, crap! You gotta see this, Stoker—we’re in the paper!”

“Really?” Mike said. He went to the couch, expecting to see a glamorous action shot, or, at worst, the two of them unrecognizable in the background.

The page was sprinkled with shots from the brush fire. And smack dab in the middle was the shot Johnny was laughing at. 

“Holy crap,” Mike said, laughing as well. “That’s awful!”

The shot was of the two of them, leaning back against the fabric of the canvas tent, sound asleep. Mike’s head was on Johnny’s shoulder, and Johnny’s head was being held upright by Mike’s. Both of their faces were smudged with soot, and Johnny’s hair was standing straight up. Mike’s mouth was wide open, and if one looked closely, a thin string of drool was visible coming from the corner of Johnny’s mouth. It wasn’t so much the drool itself that was visible, Mike decided, as the clear trail through the soot.

The caption read: “Two exhausted firemen rest during a well-deserved break.”

The phone rang, and Mike slumped forwards, face in his palms. “Shit. I wonder who _that’s_ gonna be. We’re never, ever gonna live this down.”

“Relax, Mikey. People are just gonna think it’s hysterical. They won’t read anything into it.”

“I know. But oh, man—what an embarrassing picture,” Mike said, as he answered the phone after the fourth ring. “Hello?”

He rolled his eyes and sat down.

“Hey, Kelly. No, I wouldn’t say that counts as ‘fame.’ Infamy, perhaps, but not fame. But unfortunately, it’s more than fifteen seconds, because pictures don’t just go away. And I kind of wish this one would.”

Mike listened to Chet’s reply.

“I’m sure he’ll just think it’s funny,” Mike said. “You should call him and see.”

Johnny punched Mike lightly on the arm.

“Really?” Mike said to Chet. “Huh! I wonder where he could be? Hiding from the paparazzi, no doubt.”

“Don’t push it,” Johnny stage-whispered.

“Well, let me know if you hear from him,” Mike said. 

Mike listened to Chet on the other end of the line, and nodded. “Yeah, okay. You too. See you tomorrow.”

Mike hung up the phone, and Johnny grinned and shook his head. “You’re so mean; teasing Kelly when he doesn’t even know he’s being teased.”

“Can’t help myself. I really can’t. It’s terrible, I know. But he doesn’t even know I’m having fun with him, so it’s not even really at his expense.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that, especially given how much fun he has at _my_ expense.”

The phone rang again.

“Now who?” Mike wondered. “Hello? Oh, hi, Cap. Yeah, I did. Uh huh—could’ve been a little more flattering. I remember giving the stink-eye to the photographer afterwards, since the flashbulb woke us up.”

Mike nodded, even though Cap couldn’t see him. “Yeah, it was fine. They released anyone on OT at 1700 or so. Yep, no problem. See you tomorrow. Bye.”

“And what did Cap have to say about our embarrassing photo?” Johnny asked.

“Oh, nothing much—he just wanted to make sure I’d seen it. And he asked how the OT stint was.”

“Oh. Good.” 

The phone rang yet again. 

“Hello,” Mike said, sounding a bit testy. His scowl relaxed a bit. “Oh, DeSoto. Lemme guess—you saw the work of art on page two.”

Mike laughed. “Well, you’re the only one who has the insider knowledge to say something like that, but thanks, I suppose. Uh huh. Yeah, he’s here all right. You wanna talk to him?”

Mike handed the phone to Johnny.

“Hey, Roy! So, whaddaya think?” Johnny grinned. “Aw, now ain’t that sweet! What? No I’m not!” He grabbed the paper and looked at the picture closely. “Shit, yeah, I guess I am drooling a little. Must be the company.”

This time Johnny found himself on the receiving end of a punch to the arm.

“OW! No, he punched me in the arm. Anyhow—you don’t think anyone would read anything into that picture, would they? I mean, unless they were lookin’ for somethin’, right?”

Johnny nodded. “Good. I’ll tell Mikey that too. ‘Cause that’s what I thought. Uh huh—yeah, you’re right, that’s probably true. But it’s good to have a neutral opinion. Uh huh. Yeah, you too. See you tomorrow.”

Johnny hung up the phone, and Mike looked at him inquiringly.

“What did you think, that Roy backed you up on?” Mike asked.

“Oh, just that nobody would read anything in to that picture. It’s just a slightly funny and maybe even poignant picture of two exhausted firemen who couldn’t help falling asleep in an awkward position. And that the newspaper wouldn’t print something that looked scandalous. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Mike said. “I guess he’s right. I mean, it’s a story about a brush fire, not an exposé about scandals in the fire service. Now, if that same picture were printed in an article like that, then I might be worried.”

~!~!~!~

The next morning, Mike and Johnny got the expected ribbing about the picture from the outgoing shift, then their own shiftmates. They had no doubt that C-shift, when they took over the next morning, would have some choice commentary on the photo as well.

It seemed that everywhere they turned in the station, there was another copy of the picture hung up somewhere. At lunch, after a busy morning, Chet cracked the joke he had surely been working on all morning, if not longer. 

“So, Stoker. I gotta know, just so I can pass it along to all the single ladies in the Los Angeles metropolitan area. What’s it like sleeping with Gage?”

Marco snickered, and even Cap couldn’t quite keep a straight face. Roy must have gotten some of the water he was drinking down the wrong tube, because he sputtered and coughed. Johnny blushed, and Mike froze solid.

Johnny kicked Mike under the table, and pointed to the picture that was taped to the table. Mike recovered his senses, and coughed. 

_Think fast, Stoker_ , Mike thought, feeling the panic starting to set in. _Snappy comeback urgently needed_. “Uh, let’s put it this way. I was glad I was getting overtime pay.”

Mike relaxed, as all the other men laughed. Johnny grinned, and made a kissy-face at Mike—because why not, as long as it was safe?

~!~!~!~

Three weeks later, Mike and Johnny were having dinner at the DeSotos’ house. After the table was cleared, and the dishes were done, the children were off to bed, and the adults were having a drink in the living room, Joanne disappeared for a minute. She returned with a wrapped box, and handed it to Mike.

“This is for both of you. Or rather, these are for each of you,” she said.

Mike unwrapped the box, with Johnny peering over his shoulder. As soon as they saw what was inside, they both laughed. There were two identical items in the box, and they each took one out. 

Mike held up his framed print of the newspaper photo.

“I guess the only place I can put this is the bedroom,” Mike said, smiling. “Thanks—it’s great.”

Johnny studied his copy. “Hey, this isn’t cut out from the newspaper! It’s a real photo print!”

“Yep,” Joanne said. “I got a hold of the paper and said I knew the two guys, and could I get a copy, and the photographer sent me two prints.”

“Thanks a lot,” Johnny said. “I mean, it’s a terrible picture, but … you know. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Joanne said.

**TBC**

  
  


  
  


  
  



	25. Routine

**Chapter 25: Routine**

The weeks and months passed, and Johnny and Mike settled into a routine of being carefully friendly at work, but spending all their free time together. They took their trip to Sequoia National Park during a four-day-off period, and had a perfect vacation. The weather was perfect, and the trees, even though both Mike and Johnny had seen them before, were astounding. Even though it often seemed to Johnny that vacations turned into one rescue or another, this particular trip was completely free of emergency incidents of any kind, which was fine with both of them. Johnny brought the camera he’d tinkered with in his shutter-bug phase, and they both ended up taking some pretty good pictures. 

Mike and Johnny had decided they wouldn’t make a secret of the trip; everyone knew they’d become good friends, so it didn’t seem odd that ‘two single guys’ would go off on a camping trip together. Neither Chet nor Marco cared for tent camping, so they didn’t feel awkward not inviting them.

They returned to L.A. revitalized and ready to go to work, and realized that every time they had a publicly-shared event together, it allowed them to be more free with each other in front of their friends. They also realized, though, that increased comfort with each other in public could make it harder to keep their secret relationship secret. It was a realistic fear, and one that Mike insisted they discuss, to Johnny’s dismay.

“Someone’s gonna figure it out sometime, Johnny. You know that, right?” Mike said, one morning when they were getting ready to leave Johnny’s apartment separately so they would arrive at work in their usual fashion.

“I _know_ , Mike. And _then_ what?”

Mike shook his head. “I dunno. Honestly, my bet is on whoever figures anything out just not saying anything to anyone. Including us. Because what if they were wrong? You know?”

“True,” Johnny said. “Man, I hate this shit. Why can’t people just do what they do, without having to worry about whether other people approve? It’s bullshit, man. We’re not hurting anyone. Why should we have to watch our backs like we were being hunted?”

Mike shook his head. “Still no good answer for you there, babe. I don’t know. Sometimes I think we should move to San Francisco or something.”

Johnny sighed. “Look. Let’s have this discussion again some other time, okay? I think we’re all right for now. Right?”

“Sure. Hey, I better go,” Mike said, “if I’m gonna be stupidly early. See you in twenty.”

“Hang on.” Johnny pulled Mike in by the belt-loops of his Levis, and kissed him long and gently. “There. Now you can go.”

~!~!~!~

_Several shifts later_

BWAMP, BWOOMP BWEEEEP!

“ _Engine 60, Station 51, Truck 8; Structure fire, 19075 East Bellingham. 1-9-0-7-5 East Bellingham, cross street Myrtle. Time out: 1528._ ”

The station’s tones ended the two-on-two basketball game where Mike and Johnny were trouncing Chet and Marco.

Engine 51 was the last of the three large apparatus on scene, where fire was licking out from several windows of the restaurant on the first floor of a multi-use structure. 60’s Captain, the first on scene, directed Engine 51 to run an attack line up a ladder to the second floor, at the rear of the building, where it seemed that the first floor fire was extending. Roy and Johnny were sent to the third floor, to search for occupants. The building owner, a resident of one of the second-floor apartments, thought that one of the third-floor residents worked the night shift, and was probably sleeping upstairs.

Johnny and Roy masked up and headed to their destination. The third floor was filled with hot, heavy smoke; anyone up there would have been overcome quickly. They began executing the search pattern they typically used in an apartment-building setting. They had a master key from the building manager, and were able to enter each apartment quickly.

The first three apartments they searched were definitely empty. The final apartment on the floor gave them trouble. Even though Roy’s master key opened the deadbolt instantly, the door didn’t budge. They could see carriage bolts on the outside of the door, showing that the occupant had installed a bar lock on the inside of the steel door. 

“Definitely someone in there,” Roy shouted. “Can’t lock that from the outside.”

“Damn it!” Johnny said. He pulled his axe from his belt, and Roy his halligan tool, and they began trying to force the door. After over a minute, they’d made little headway.

Johnny grabbed Roy, and shook his head. “No more time.” He grabbed his HT. “Command, from third floor search team.”

“ _Command. Go ahead, third floor._ ”

“We have a likely victim in the apartment on the Charlie-Delta corner of the third floor. The door is steel, and appears to be locked from the inside with a bar. Advise accessing from the window on the Delta side.”

“ _Copy. Exit the structure, third floor team, and re-enter via ladder._ ” There was a brief burst of static. “ _Truck 8, ladder the third floor window, Delta side, nearest the Charlie-Delta corner._ ”

“Copy,” said someone from Truck 8.

By the time Johnny and Roy made it back outside, the ladder company was finished putting their huge, heavy two-fly extension ladder up to the third floor window. Johnny and Roy stopped at the engine, which was closer than the squad, and swapped out their air bottles, which they’d nearly exhausted with the search and then the failed effort of breaching the door. They hurried back up to the third floor, entered through the window, and quickly found their victim.

“Shit, Roy—this guy’s gotta be over two hundred pounds!” Johnny shouted over his regulator. 

“He’s not coming down that ladder with us,” Roy said, as he began fastening a harness onto their victim. 

Johnny radioed their plan to lower the victim by rope to incident command.

Remarkably, the man was still breathing. Johnny gave him a few breaths of air from his mask, holding his own breath as he did so. When he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, he started swapping his mask back and forth between himself and the man, until Roy had the man packaged to send him out the window.

They dragged the man to the window that didn’t have the ladder on it. Johnny cleared the window, and laid a rug over the sill. They threw the tag line down to the crew waiting on the ground; the ground crew would keep the victim from dragging against the wall as Johnny and Roy lowered him. 

“Up after three,” Roy said. “One, two, three, up!” They hoisted their unconscious victim to the window, and began working together to lower him down in a controlled fashion. Once the weight was off the line, they headed straight back to the ladder they’d come up, and made their way down quickly but carefully, to go take care of their patient. On the ground, they passed the ladder that Chet and Marco had gone up with an attack line. The line was gone—Chet and Marco had been pulled out of the building, and were using their attack line from the outside.

The squad was parked right behind the engine. The crew from 8’s ladder truck had set their victim down on the tree lawn next to the squad, and were already giving him oxygen. Johnny did a quick initial assessment—the patient was breathing on his own, and had a pulse. But his breathing was starting to sound ragged—he likely had some airway swelling from breathing in poisonous byproducts of combustion.

Roy was on the phone to Rampart.

“Copy, Rampart. Intubate, IV normal saline, and transport.”

Johnny already had the ET tube ready to go. He slid the blade of the laryngoscope in, found his target, and dropped the tube through the already visibly-inflamed vocal cords. He secured the tube in place, and put the mask back over the patient’s face. He blew out a deep breath, and wiped sweat and soot off his forehead.

“That was close, Roy—another minute or two and I don’t think I could’ve passed that tube.”

Roy nodded. “I don’t even totally know why this guy is still breathing.”

“Me neither,” Johnny said. “That air was crap, and it was getting awful damned hot, too.” As if to prove his point, he coughed several times. Roy frowned at him, and got another oxygen cylinder from the squad.

“Yeah, Junior, it was. And you breathed more of than you let on, I bet.” He handed Johnny an oxygen mask. “Shut up and put it on.”

Johnny sighed, and the sigh turned into a rattling cough. 

Roy raised his eyebrows. Johnny put the mask over his face.

“I’ve got our patient. Just enjoy the show until the ambulance comes,” Roy said. “See? Mike must have a terrific hydrant; Big Red’s pumping to a deuce-and-a-half and a master stream, no problem.”

Sure enough, Chet and Marco’s line at the rear of the building, as well as the deluge stream Cap had set up and started operating once everyone was out of the building. Johnny peered around the squad, trying to get a look at Mike at the pump panel, but realized he couldn’t see him without getting up.

John’s and Roy’s attention snapped back to their victim, who, amazingly, was starting to stir.

Roy immediately got back on the biophone.

“Rampart, our victim is regaining consciousness. We don’t advise extubating at this time; the upper airway was significantly inflamed.”

“ _Copy, 51. Ten milligrams diazepam IV; see if that brings him back down._ ”

“Ten milligrams diazepam, IV,” Roy repeated. “Man, this guy’s strong as a horse.” He administered the medication, and the patient quickly settled back into reduced consciousness.

The ambulance pulled onto the scene.

“About time,” Roy said, under his breath. “And yes, you’re riding in with us.”

“I know,” Johnny said into the oxygen mask. He coughed again after just those two words irritated his already inflamed vocal cords.

As Roy and the attendants were packaging the patient onto the gurney, Johnny looked towards Cap’s master stream device. Its low hum suddenly changed pitch.

Then, from the side of the engine hidden from view, there was a sudden ‘bang,’ followed by a ‘thump,’ just as the master stream ceased to flow. The large diameter hose that had connected the hydrant to the engine was rolling on the ground, gushing water. On the ground, in front of a cement bench about eight feet from the engine, Mike Stoker lay in a heap, unmoving.

“Mike!” Johnny whipped the mask off his face and dropped it on the ground. “Oh, no no no!”

“Johnny, no! You stay here; I should—”

But he was gone. Roy knew he couldn’t leave his patient, but he also didn’t think it was a terrific idea for Johnny to rush in to the situation he knew could happen someday. There wasn’t, at the moment, a good choice for anyone.

“No, no no no …” Johnny said to nobody, as he frantically checked Mike over. He had a pulse and was breathing, and didn’t have any immediately obvious injuries, but was out cold. His helmet was askew, but his neck wasn’t in an unusual position.

“Mike!” Johnny shouted, right in Stoker’s ear. He got nothing. He reached into Mike’s coat and applied a firm pinch to the muscle between his neck and shoulder, to see if a painful stimulus would get a response. It didn’t. “Don’t do this to me, babe, c’mon …”

“Cap, I need some help here!” Johnny shouted. He doubled over in a fit of coughing, trying to continue his initial assessment at the same time.

Johnny barely noticed the flash of action around the engine, as three men from Truck 8 rushed to work on re-establishing water supply.

Cap arrived at Johnny’s side. Johnny didn’t wait for Cap to ask.

“Supply line blew off the truck, I think. Threw Mike over here. I need a C-collar, backboard, and O2.”

“Got it,” Cap said. He stopped at the engine’s mobile radio to request another ambulance, and returned shortly with the C-collar and O2, and came back a second time with the backboard. 

“How is he?” Cap asked, looking at Mike’s still form.

“He’s out cold. C’mon, Mikey, give me something here,” Johnny said, not taking his eyes off Stoker. “Cap, I’m gonna hold his head and neck while you get his helmet off.”

“Got it,” Cap said. He removed the helmet as Johnny stabilized Mike’s head. Once the helmet was off, Johnny quickly felt around Mike’s neck and all over his skull.

“I don’t feel anything on his head,” Johnny said to Cap. “Probably got thrown against this bench here. Good thing he was wearing his helmet. Can you get that O2 on him, Cap?” Johnny turned away from Mike’s face, and coughed again.

Once Mike’s neck was immobilized, Johnny started getting Mike’s coat off of him. The top buckle, as was his habit when he wasn’t going into a fire, was open, but the one below it was crumpled and bent, and wouldn’t budge. Johnny pried the damaged buckle open with the heaviest pair of forceps in the trauma box. He opened the rest of the buckles on Mike’s turnout coat and cut his shirt open with his shears, baring Mike’s chest. 

“Holy crap,” Johnny said. “Aw, shit, Mikey.”

There was a huge bruise forming across Mike’s chest, starting at his sternum and extending down the left side of his rib cage. Johnny palpated the area, and didn’t find any indication of broken bones, but was disturbed by the fact that Mike didn’t stir when he did so. He got Mike’s coat the rest of the way off, and got an initial set of vitals. Everything looked normal—no lowered blood pressure or elevated pulse or respiration that would make him concerned about internal bleeding. Johnny frowned when he checked Mike’s pupils; their response seemed a bit slow to him.

Johnny coughed heavily. He felt all four of Mike’s limbs, and didn’t find any gross deformities or bleeding. He checked his pelvis and abdomen, and found nothing alarming.

“Cap, can you see if I can get a turn with the biophone?”

“Sure thing, Gage.” Cap trotted the twenty or so feet between Mike and where Roy was with his victim, and returned with the already-active biophone. As he set the device down next to Johnny, he saw Johnny checking Mike’s pupils again. This time, when Johnny gently pried open an eyelid and flicked his penlight’s beam across Mike’s eye, Mike frowned, grumbled incoherently and moved his arms.

“Attaboy; c’mon, babe; keep on waking up,” Johnny said partly to Mike, but mostly to himself. 

Cap raised his eyebrows. It was normal for Chet to use slangy words like that with his friends, but Gage was strictly a first-name sort of guy, unless he was annoyed, and then the last names were standard. He set the biophone down next to Johnny, but didn’t say anything, because he didn’t want to interrupt Gage’s work.

“Oh—thanks,” Johnny said, seeing the biophone. “Cap, we gotta get him backboarded; I don’t want him thrashing around when he comes to.”

“Got it,” Cap said. The two of them worked swiftly but carefully to roll Mike, keeping his spine straight. As they rolled him to his side, Johnny checked Mike’s back. He didn’t find anything other than some bruising. They rolled him carefully onto the backboard, where they strapped him down securely and covered him with a blanket.

Johnny picked up the biophone’s receiver.

“Uh, Rampart, this is 51, with a second victim. Code I, age 31, apparently thrown about eight feet into a cement bench, by a blow to the chest when a supply line blew off the engine he was operating. He was initially unresponsive, but is now responding to noxious stimuli. He has—uh,” Johnny had to stop to cough and clear his throat, but then continued. “Rampart, he has a large contusion on his sternum, with significant swelling, about four inches wide and fourteen inches long, extending to the left rib cage, but no deformity or crepitus.” Johnny realized his voice was shaking, so he stopped to take a breath, cough a few more times, and then continued. “Vitals are: respirations 12, regular and quiet, pulse 70, strong and regular, and BP 112/74. Pupils equal, but sluggish.”

“ _Copy, 51. With a blow to the chest like that, I’d like to see an EKG strip. Also start an IV, D5W to keep open, immobilize, and transport. Update us on any changes to level of consciousness en route._ ”

“Ten four, Rampart. Ah, can we take this patient along with our smoke inhalation patient, or should we wait for a second ambulance, ETA unknown?”

“ _You can transport them together, 51._ ”

“Copy.”

“Gage, Roy already left with his patient,” Cap said.

Johnny paled. “But—but—” His protests were cut off by another coughing fit.

“Rampart, this is 51—the first victim is already en route, and we don’t have an ETA on the second ambulance!”

“ _Copy, 51,_ ” Dr. Early’s voice said calmly. “ _Send us a strip, and get that IV going. You can transport your patient on the next ambulance._ ”

“Ten four, Rampart.” Johnny put the receiver down, and coughed and spat into the grass. His hands were shaking as he sat up again.

“Cap—I need, uh, can you get—” Johnny put his face in his hands, and coughed again. “Crap.”

“Take it easy, John. This isn’t like you. Rampart wants an EKG strip and an IV. I’ll go get that equipment, all right? And then I’ll get an ETA on the second ambulance.”

“Okay. All right. Okay,” Johnny said, more to himself than to Cap. 

Cap trotted to the squad and retrieved the IV box and the datascope. He peeled the backing off the EKG electrodes as he handed them to Gage, who applied them, hooking up the leads when he was done. 

Once Cap had delivered the equipment, he studied Johnny, squinting at him, and ducked into Engine 51’s cab, and sat in the driver’s seat, keeping a discreet eye on Gage the whole time. Either Gage was sicker than he was letting anyone see, or something else was going on. Either way, there needed to be another squad at the scene, because Gage seemed like he could lose it it at any second, which was highly unusual for him. He picked up the mobile radio.

“Dispatch, Engine 51. Can you give me an ETA on the second ambulance?”

“ _Copy, 51. ETA is five minutes,”_ the dispatcher said after a moment.

“Copy, dispatch; five minutes. What’s the ETA for the nearest squad?”

There was a pause while the dispatcher checked the status board. “ _ETA for Squad 127 is seven minutes. Are you requesting a second squad?_ ”

“Affirmative, but be advised we may cancel them en route.”

“ _Copy, 51. Dispatching Squad 127 to your location. ETA seven minutes._ ”

Cap returned his attention to Johnny and Mike.

“Rampart, sending you a strip now,” Johnny said into the Biophone.

Johnny watched the scope anxiously. It looked fine—a nice, normal, pretty-looking sinus rhythm. He waited for the thirty seconds that Rampart typically wanted, and switched the biophone back to voice mode. 

“Rampart, I read sinus rhythm.”

“ _Agreed. Start that IV, if it’s not in already, and transport._ ”

“Ten four, Rampart.” Johnny looked up. “Cap, can you get me a—” Cap was already holding out an IV pack. “Thanks.”

Johnny found a good vein in Mike’s forearm, and scrubbed the spot down. Mike frowned and mumbled again. “Sorry, Mikey,” Johnny muttered, under his breath. 

As Johnny stuck Mike with the needle, Mike tried to pull his arm away, and his eyes fluttered open. “Wha … huh? Johnny?”

Johnny pulled the needle out and taped the catheter in place quickly, as Cap held the IV bag up, from behind Mike’s head. 

“You’re okay, Mikey,” Johnny said. “You with us again?” 

As Mike started to try to sit up, he got a panicked look in his eyes as he realized he couldn’t move. Johnny put his hand gently on the unbruised side of Mike’s chest, as if he, not the straps on the backboard, were holding him down.

Mike’s eyes flicked back and forth until they again found a familiar target. “Johnny? What …” He reached for Johnny’s hand on his chest, which Johnny snatched back in a hurry, aware they had an audience, and equally aware that Mike probably had no idea what was going on, and who was looking.

“Why are you—Johnny, what’s going on? Where are we?”

“Just stay down, okay, Mikey? You got knocked out, but you’re gonna be okay. Do you know what happened?”

Mike’s eyes flicked from side to side. “I can’t move! What’s the matter with me?”

“It’s okay, Mike. We’ve got you on a backboard, just in case you hurt your neck or your back. Can you move your fingers and toes?”

Mike complied.

“Good—everything’s moving that’s supposed to. What fingers do I have here?” Johnny asked.

“Pinkies.”

“And which toes?”

“Big toes.”

“Great, Mike. Do you remember what happened?” Johnny asked again.

“Chest hurts. Headache,” Mike said. Johnny continued looking at him, waiting for an answer to his question. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Johnny repeated.

Mike’s eyes darted nervously. “Don’t know,” he said finally. “What happened?” He tried to look around, but of course couldn’t move his head, which was firmly affixed to the backboard.

“Supply line blew off, and took you with it. Try not to move your head—just say yes or no. Are you hurtin’ anywhere else?”

“No. Johnny, what happened?” Mike said, sounding anxious, but no longer struggling to move.

Cap watched their exchange from behind Mike’s head, as he held the IV bag. He’d never, ever heard Stoker address his crewmates by anything other than their last names, but Mike _had_ just gotten a terrific wallop. It did seem, though, that there was an epidemic of informal address going on. But that was the least of his worries, so he quickly put the thought aside and turned his attention back to his injured crewman, while still keeping a close eye on Johnny, who again had to take a break to cough and spit.

Johnny adjusted one of the straps on the backboard. “Looks like the supply line blew off and whacked you in the chest real good. You got tossed into a cement bench, and you were out cold for a couple minutes. Everything looks fine, though, okay?” Johnny turned aside again in a fit of coughing, and spat a glob of soot-blackened goo into the grass.

Cap frowned, and shot Johnny a look, which he either didn’t see or pretended not to see.

“Johnny?” Mike said.

“Yeah, I’m here. You know where we are?” Johnny asked.

“Uh, I guess we must be at a fire,” Mike said. “I don’t know what happened though.”

“That’s all right. Can you tell me your whole name?”

“Michael Stoker, no middle name. You know that.”

“I know. I just have to ask, to see how bad your brains got scrambled. And what day is it?”

Mike’s eyes darted around again, as if looking for the answer in mid-air. “I don’t even know. Shit, Johnny.”

“It’s all right. You’re doing fine.” Johnny patted him on the arm as he picked up the biophone again.

“Rampart, Squad 51. Our second victim has regained consciousness, and is alert and oriented to person and place, but doesn’t know the day or what happened. IV is in; no other changes to report.”

“ _Copy, 51. Transport when you can._ ”

“Ten four, Rampart.” Johnny put the phone down, and looked back at Mike. “We’re gonna take you in to Rampart, just to get checked out, okay?”

“Yeah.” Mike closed his eyes again.

“Mike?” Johnny said loudly. “C’mon, Mikey. Keep those eyes open.”

Mike’s eyes opened again, looked at Johnny, and then started to drift closed again.

“Nuh-uh, ba— pal. Gotta stay awake for me, okay?” Johnny said. He coughed again.

“’kay. I’ll try.” He frowned at Johnny. “You eat some smoke?”

“Just a little. Nothing to worry about.”

“Not so fast, Gage,” Cap interjected. “Squad 127 is on their way to check you over.”

“Aw, now Cap, hang on a second. Please.” Johnny looked down at Mike, and stood up. He gestured Cap over towards the engine. 

“See, it’s like this, Cap. I want him in the ambulance and on the way to Rampart ASAP. He was completely unresponsive for a good coupla minutes, and isn’t well oriented now, and his pupils are sluggish. Me, I just ate a little smoke. If the ambulance gets here before 127s, I really feel like I oughta wrap and run, okay? If 127s gets here first, then let them take both of us in. Just don’t make Stoker wait on account of me. Please?”

Cap sighed. There was something going on here that he wasn’t getting, but he trusted his men’s judgment. 

“Well, here comes your ambulance,” said Cap, steering Johnny back to the scene. “So all right. You take him in, but I don’t want to see you back at the station until you’ve been checked out at Rampart, you hear me?”

“Yeah, Cap. I got it,” Johnny said.

“Stoker, you gave us quite a scare, there. How are you feeling?”

Mike blinked a few times. “Vague. Nauseous.”

“I’ll bet. You must’ve gotten quite a knock to the noggin.”

“I don’t remember,” Mike said. “I remember getting toned out to a structure fire, but then—that’s it. Oh,” he said suddenly, smiling up at Johnny. “Thursday. It’s Thursday—I remember now, because tomorrow—”

“Yeah, tomorrow’s Friday, all right,” Johnny said, interrupting. “Looks like our ride is here. You can fill me in about your plans for your days off when we get on our way, all right?”

“Um. Yeah. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize for getting knocked down on the job, pal,” Cap said, fortunately misunderstanding.

Mike was silent as Cap and Johnny lifted the backboard gently onto the gurney, and belted Mike down securely. Johnny held the IV bag up as the Mayfair attendants rolled the gurney to the ambulance, and loaded Mike into the back of the rig. The attendants closed the door.

Johnny knew he had about three seconds until the attendants entered the adjoining cab, so he made the most of it. He took Mike’s hand, leaned down and quickly kissed him on the forehead. “Holy crap, babe; you scared the shit out of me.” 

The front doors of the Mayfair rig opened and closed.

“Me too,” Mike said, squeezing Johnny’s hand. “I thought—” he closed his eyes for a second.

“Gage, you ready to roll back there?” the driver asked.

“Yeah—go non code-R, okay? Just get us there gently.”

“Got it.” The ambulance pulled out of the street, and they were on their way.

“What, babe? What did you think?” Johnny said quietly enough that the driver and the other attendant wouldn’t be able to hear him over the engine.

Mike didn’t answer for a second. “When you pulled your hand away, when I was reaching for you, I thought … well, for a minute I thought the whole last couple of months were a dream. Like I was Dorothy, waking up at the end of _The Wizard of Oz,_ and everything’s in black and white again _._ But I get it now. Cap was right there. I just didn’t know where we were, or what had happened. But I saw you, and you looked so upset, and … and … man, I almost blew it.”

“Shhh. It’s okay. I was pretty freaked out, but now that I see you’re gonna be fine, now I know you’re okay, then I’m okay too,” Johnny said, keeping his voice low. He coughed again, and winced as he did so.

“You’re don’t _sound_ okay,” Mike said. “Did I hear Cap ordering you to get checked out?”

“Yeah.” Johnny coughed again.

Mike pulled his own oxygen mask off and handed it to Johnny.

“Are you insane?” Johnny hissed, putting the mask back on Mike’s face.

“What?” Mike said. “Sounds like you need it more than I do. I mean, listen to yourself. You sound like you’re coughing up an entire lung. Which,” he said, frowning, “I don’t suppose is actually possible.”

“You’re sounding better every second, Stoker.” Johnny shook his head. “But no dice. If I show up with you at Rampart without O2 on you, I’m in big trouble.”

“Do I have to be strapped down like this?” Mike asked. “It’s super uncomfortable, and I could just sit on the bench there with you.”

Johnny glared at him. The glare turned into a wince, as he was wracked with coughs.

“Never mind, never mind, I know. Assume spinal injury until proven otherwise. My neck doesn’t hurt, and neither does my back. Just my head and my chest.”

“Yeah, well you and I don’t get to decide,” Johnny said hoarsely. “Once you’re immobilized, which was absolutely the right thing to do when you were lying there in a heap, you don’t get, uh, remobilized until the docs say so.” He coughed some more, and rummaged in a compartment. He pulled out a barf bag, pleasantly labeled as a “convenience bag,” and spat out another wad of sooty goo.

“Or you could just lie down here with me. Though I don’t know about that, actually, the way you’re hacking and gagging. No, actually, you could still lie down with me. That’d be okay.”

Johnny looked up nervously towards the cockpit of the ambulance. “Mike, just … just settle down, okay? We’ll get to Rampart soon, and the docs will check us out, and everything’s gonna be fine.”

“They’re not gonna let you go-ho,” Mike taunted in a sing-song voice.

“Mikey,” Johnny said, “settle down. Seriously.”

“What? What’d I do? They’re _not_ gonna let you go, you know. Even I know that.”

“They’re not gonna let _you_ go either, my concussed friend. _And_ they’re gonna wake you up every hour to make sure you’re still oriented.”

“Wanna be my roommate?” Mike said loudly enough that Johnny was worried that the volume would carry to the cockpit.

“Geez, Mikey. Keep it down. And no, I don’t; not at Rampart.” Johnny coughed and spat again. “This is gross. Sorry.”

“Uh, fireman, remember?” Mike said. “I get it.” He blinked heavily a few times, then closed his eyes, and opened them again. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

“For real? Cause if you are, I need to roll you on your side.”

“Um … maybe not. Just really dizzy.”

“Try picking a point on the ceiling, and just looking at that. We’re almost to Rampart,” Johnny said, coughing again between sentences. “You’ll probably feel a lot better when you’re not moving backwards,” Johnny said, as the ambulance pulled into the Rampart compound. By the time they were backed into the ambulance bay, he was coughing and hacking as the attendants opened the doors.

“Why don’t you let us do the lifting, Gage,” the driver said. “To be honest, you sound like shit.”

“No way, man,” Johnny said. 

“Listen up, babe. You’re coughing up a lung, there. Just let them do the heavy work, and put a cork in it.” Mike laughed at himself a little.

Johnny was alarmed at Mike’s uncharacteristic public use of a term of endearment, plus the amount that he was talking, in a situation where most people would be quieter than usual. 

“Seriously, Gage. Get out,” the driver said.

Johnny decided to accede to the wishes of the majority, and climbed out of the back of the rig and let the two Mayfair men take Mike in the ER doors. It was a wise decision, he decided, as he doubled up in a coughing fit as soon as they entered the air-conditioned hospital.

**TBC**


	26. Rampart Inn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for, I don't know, excessive phlegm and vomiting. Though if you're squeamish, you probably haven't gotten this far anyhow.

**Chapter 26: Rampart Inn**

Dixie and Dr. Early met Johnny and Mike, and their accompanying ambulance attendants, at the door of the emergency room.

Johnny was doubled over in a coughing fit, and Dixie grabbed an orderly and, between the two of them, they got Johnny and his Convenience Bag into a wheelchair.

“My goodness,” Dr. Early said mildly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen two more sorry looking firemen in my life. What do you boys say to Treatment 2? Hope you don’t mind buddying up in a treatment room; we’ve been busy this afternoon.”

“Sure thing, Doc. I think we can stand it,” Mike said. “Wouldn’t mind getting out of this contraption, though,” he said, as he was wheeled down the corridor. “It’s like, I don’t know, one of those medieval iron maiden things, except without the spikes.”

“No can do, I’m afraid, until we have C-spine and skull x-rays,” Dr. Early said. “I’m Dr. Early, by the way.”

“Mike Stoker, engineer for 51s.”

“Ah, you get to drive the truck! I’ve always wanted to do that,” Dr. Early said, as they entered the treatment room.

“Can’t let you do that, but I’ll take you for a ride if you let me out of here,” Mike said.

“He will, too, Doc. He’s not joking,” Johnny said. He hacked and spat into his Convenience Bag again.

“No talking, Gage,” Mike said.

“Good advice,” Dixie said. “On the table, my friend. And this should help.” She looped the tubing of a nasal cannula around his ears and turned the oxygen on for him. 

Dr. Early was looking over the notes he’d taken on Mike from when Johnny called in. “So, Mr. Stoker, it sounds like in addition to a tremendous wallop on the sternum, you probably have a concussion, which basically means your brain got shaken up a bit. Do you remember any more about what happened?”

“Nope. I remember playing basketball after lunch, but that’s it. Johnny and I were totally taking Lopez and Kelly apart. They didn’t have a chance. I think they rigged it so the tones would drop to let them save face.”

“The call interrupted the ball game, and we hadn’t been on the scene for too long, so you’ve only lost—” Johnny coughed and spat again, “forty-five minutes or so.”

“No talking,” Mike repeated. “Hey, Doc, maybe he needs one of those mask things. You shoulda heard him in the rig on the way over here. But actually, now that I’m thinking straight—or, I don’t know, maybe not so much—anyhow, I think he’s sounding worse every minute. So don’t worry about me—I’m sure I’m fine, and I can stay like this for another—”

The door opened, and Roy poked his head in, interrupting Mike’s stream of verbiage.

“Mike! Back with the world?”

“Minus three quarters an hour or so. It’s weird. It was like … one minute I was getting viciously fouled on the half-court by Kelly, who I think must have as many elbows as an octopus—do octopuses even have elbows? And is it octopuses, or octopi? I don’t really know. And then all of a sudden this guy over here was sticking me with an IV. And then it was like _The Wizard of Oz_ —you know, at the end? Where Dorothy wakes up, and—”

“All right!” Dixie said, clapping her hands. “Everyone—quiet! Roy, they’ll be fine.”

“But they won’t be leaving imminently,” said Dr. Early, “so I’m sorry to say you might as well get back to your station.”

“Yeah, well, Doc, I’m kind of waiting on a ride anyhow. Anything I can do here?”

“You can keep Gage quiet,” Mike said.

“I don’t—” Johnny’s indignant retort was cut off by a fit of coughing, which resulted in another deposit to the Convenience Bag.

“I don’t know what it is you think you _don’t_ , Junior, but it seems pretty clear to me that you _do_ , whatever it is,” Roy said.

Mike broke out in laughter and clutched at his chest. “Ow! No fair! No making me laugh, DeSoto! But that was really funny! I never knew you were such a funny guy!”

“All right,” Dixie said again. “Am I going to have to separate the three of you?”

The door opened again, and an x-ray technician came in to take Mike down to X-ray. “Just c-spine and A/P and lateral skull for now, Jack; once he’s up and around, which I suspect will be as soon as I see those c-spine pictures, I’ll need a couple of chest pictures too.”

“Got it,” said the tech, as he wheeled Mike’s stretcher out of the room.

Johnny’s scowl deepened to a real frown as he heard Mike strike up a conversation with the x-ray tech. Roy caught Johnny’s look.

“Johnny …”

Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know, Roy.”

Dr. Early didn’t have the faintest idea what that exchange was about, but figured Roy would fill him in if it was something that needed his attention. He turned his attention to the exam table. “And Johnny, do I understand right that you have some smoke inhalation?”

“Yeah,” Johnny croaked. 

“Why don’t I fill him in, Johnny?” Roy said.

“Okay.” Johnny leaned back against the incline of the exam table, suddenly looking extremely pale and tired.

“The guy I brought in just now took us about ten minutes to get packaged. The air in there was hot, and smoky, and I’m actually amazed my patient is doing as well as he is. Johnny was buddy-breathing with him, but frankly, I think the other guy got more out of the SCBA cylinder than Gage did. The smoke wasn’t too thick, but it was pretty hot, and Gage couldn’t stay low the whole time given what we were doing, so I’d bet he breathed in some unhealthily hot air too. He wasn’t too bad when he first came out, but I didn’t get a chance to look at him before Mike went down. He’s worse now than last time I saw him at the scene.”

Dr. Early warmed his stethoscope with his hands. “Let’s get that shirt off so I can get some lung sounds, okay Johnny?”

“Sure.” 

“You know the routine—breathe in as deeply as you can, and then out as far as you can.”

Johnny followed the instructions, and Dr. Early took a minute or two to listen to eight or ten different places on Johnny’s chest and back. Johnny had to stop several times to cough and spit.

Dr. Early took the earpieces out and hung the stethoscope around his neck, and looked Johnny in the eye.

“Well, my friend, you’re giving me just about every abnormal lung sound in the book. I heard ronchi, expiratory wheezes, and some fine crackles in the lower fields. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had some swelling in your upper airway, too, from the sound of your voice. I can see you’ve been bringing up quite a bit of soot, as well.”

Johnny nodded miserably.

“We’ve got to get those bronchi and bronchioles opened up, Johnny, because right now you’re trapping air, building up some fluid in your lungs, and you’re none too well oxygenated, either, from the looks of you. I’ll want to get a complete blood count, and carboxyhemoglobin levels as well, since you know as well as I do that carbon monoxide is a given.”

Johnny nodded again.

“I’ll get your nebulized albuterol treatment going right away, as well. And I know you’re going to hate this, but I want you in overnight, on humidified oxygen, and albuterol treatments as needed until your airways are clear.”

Johnny had another coughing fit, and spat out more soot. 

“The fact that you’re not pitching a fit right now tells me you’re feeling pretty sick,” Dr. Early said, as he hooked up a nebulizer to some oxygen tubing and handed it to Johnny, who nodded once again.

“That would be a ‘hell yes,’ Doc,” Roy filled in.

“You know the drill, Johnny. Breathe in as deeply as you can, and exhale as far as you can, okay? And you should expect the usual side effects, like an elevated heart rate as well as some jitteriness.”

Johnny nodded, and started inhaling from the nebulizer. He managed not to cough too much of the medication out on each inhalation. Meanwhile, Dixie drew blood for the tests Dr. Early had requested. 

“John, I’m going to let you finish that treatment off under Dixie’s watchful eye while I go check on another patient. I’ll be back shortly.”

“I’ll be right back too, Junior,” Roy said, stepping out as well.

As soon as they were in the hallway, Roy stopped Dr. Early.

“Doc? I don’t want to hold you up if you’re in a hurry, but can I have a quick word?”

“Of course, Roy. You look like you have something heavy on your mind.”

Roy sighed. “I’m afraid I didn’t do a very good job watching out for my partner this afternoon.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I saw him sharing his air with our victim, when we were packaging him up, but we do that all the time. I guess I just didn’t realize how much smoke he was actually eating, or I would’ve traded off with him. And then, when we got our victim as stable as we could, and I realized Johnny was starting to cough, I got him on oxygen right away. But then the supply line blew off the engine, and, well, Doc, you wouldn’t have any way of knowing this, but Mike and Johnny are really close. And … and without abandoning _my_ patient, there was nothing I could do to stop Johnny when he ripped off his O 2 and rushed over to Mike.”

Dr. Early looked Roy straight in the eye. “You and I both know that Johnny has a habit of putting other people’s needs in front of his on the job. I think you’re correct when you say there’s nothing you could have done to stop him. It wasn’t an ideal situation—you had two patients, and two paramedics, one of whom was suffering from the early effects of smoke inhalation. I don’t think his not being on oxygen until he got here is going to hurt him too badly, if that’s what you’re worried about. And think of it this way—he got in here just as quickly as his patient.”

“Yeah,” Roy said. “Yeah, I guess he did. I also think he probably didn’t know how bad he was feeling until Mike started to come around.”

Dr. Early nodded. “Hearing that he and Mike are close friends sheds some light on how Johnny was sounding when he first called in about Mike. I’ve heard him sound upset, and shaken, and scared, but never panicked. Not until just this afternoon.”

Roy looked at the linoleum floor of the hallway. “Yeah. He was pretty upset. But anyhow, Doc, I just wanted to get that off my chest.”

“Try not to worry about it, Roy. You can’t save him from himself. And it sounds like he did what he felt like he needed to do.”

“I just wish I’d been fast enough to think of having him stay with our original victim, and going over to Mike myself.”

Dr. Early smiled. “Well, it sounds like Johnny was just faster about it than you were. He’ll be fine, Roy. And I have no doubt Mike will be fine as well. I guarantee you we’ll be keeping Johnny overnight, and probably Mike as well, but I’m sure they’ll both be just fine.”

Roy looked relieved. “Yeah, I guess they will, won’t they. Thanks, Doc.”

“Any time, Roy.”

Roy felt slightly lighter as he paused outside the treatment room. Dr. Early was right—there was no way to save Gage from himself. And really, how could he fault Johnny for running to Mike’s aid? But Roy was reminded, for the thousandth time, that he thought it was a terrible idea for Johnny and Mike to be working together now that they were so involved with each other in the way they were.

He didn’t, however, think it was terrible that they were involved with each other. That was clear to him from the get-go—or at least from when he understood they were actually serious, and that they were making the best choices they could with their lives and their work. Choices that Roy had never even had to consider.

Roy went back into the treatment room, just as Johnny was finishing off the albuterol treatment. 

“All right, Johnny—are you most comfortable sitting upright like this?” Dixie was asking.

Johny nodded, and didn’t even have to be asked just to sit quietly. Roy sat up on a stool, and just waited with him. He knew what Dixie didn’t, which was that Johnny was still worried to death about Mike, and wasn’t just sitting quietly—he was waiting anxiously at the same time.

The door opened, and Roy stood up to help the x-ray technician roll the gurney back into the room. 

“Dr. Early wants those films stat,” Dixie said to the tech.

“Got it. They’re already in the developer. I’ll bring them right up when they’re done—a couple more minutes.”

“Thanks,” said Dixie.

“How’s the head, Mike?” Roy asked.

“Well, unless the room is actually spinning, I think I’m just gonna stay right where I am for a little while. Don’t say anything, babe,” Mike said, because he knew Johnny would pipe up with something. “Cause it’s just gonna make you hack and gag if you say anything at all.”

Johnny just shook his head.

“Is it better if you close your eyes?” Roy asked. “Only time I ever got knocked out like that, I was so dizzy the only way I could keep from puking was to just shut my eyes.”

“I tried that already. Makes it worse. The only thing that seems to help is just pick a spot on the ceiling and look at that. Not that there’s much very interesting to look at. I’d have more interesting things to look at if I could move my head, but I can’t.”

Johnny planted his face in his palm. 

“Not talking might _also_ help _you_ ,” Dixie said to Mike, as she started taking another set of vitals. 

Johnny grinned and coughed, and at the same time Roy laughed. “That’s gotta be the first time I’ve ever heard anyone suggest to Mike that he talk _less,_ ” Roy said.

“Oh?” Dixie queried.

“He’s the quiet guy on our shift, Dix,” Roy said. “He’s been known to say nothing unless spoken to for an entire 24-hour shift.”

Mike sighed. “Just because the rest of you are always blabbing about this and yammering about that doesn’t mean I have to. Some of us like to keep ourselves to ourselves, in case you’ve never thought of it that way.” He paused. “Sorry, sorry—I didn’t mean that. It just popped out. I’ll just shut up now.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes and looked at Roy. He made a scribbling motion with his hand, and Roy handed him the little notebook he had in his shirt pocket.

“ _Worried_ ,” he wrote. “ _Popped out? Not like him. Weird in rig too. Brain OK?_ ”

Roy knew what Johnny was worried about. Sometimes brain-damaged patients lost their inhibitions, and talked too much or too freely.

“Let’s just wait, Johnny, all right?”

Mike squirmed to try to see his two shiftmates. “What’s going on? What are you waiting for? Did he just write something down? What was it?”

“Nothing, Mike. Just—just see if you can stay still and quiet until the doctor gets back, okay?”

Johnny scrawled on the pad again. “ _Tell Doc he’s acting weird. Hallway_.”

Roy nodded his head. “Sure. I’ll take care of that. I’ll be back.”

Roy stepped out into the hallway again, hoping to catch Dr. Early before he returned. Indeed, the doctor emerged from an adjacent treatment room, and Roy spoke to him immediately.

“Doc, there’s something I should tell you before you go back in there,” he said.

“Oh? What’s that, Roy?”

“Mike _really_ isn’t acting like himself. He hardly says much at all at work, and is really careful about what he says, but ever since he’s been here he’s been practically running off at the mouth, and saying some really uncharacteristic things. Like for instance, he _only_ ever calls any of us by our last names, but he’s been calling Johnny by his first name, and, uh, nicknames too. He probably doesn’t seem weird to you, but believe me, he’s not acting normally. Johnny’s really worried—he wrote me a note that Mike was acting oddly in the ambulance, too.”

“Thanks for letting me know that, Roy. It sounds from the description of the incident that he’s had quite a nasty concussion. And as you know, if the frontal lobe is affected, inhibitions can be diminished. But the good news is, his vitals look good, with nothing suggesting increased intracranial pressure. And, here comes the x-ray tech, hopefully with pictures that will show us some good news. My gut says this will all be temporary.”

The tech handed the envelope to Dr. Early.

Roy continued. “Uh, Doc? This is gonna sound really odd, but I think you should look at them somewhere where Johnny can’t see, first. Because he’s really, really worried. That way, if everything looks okay, you can just walk in and say that. And if it doesn’t, you’ll know what to say.”

Dr. Early nodded. “All right. Would you like to have a look with me? It never hurts to have a little continuing education, now, does it?”

“Sure, thanks.”

They slipped into a treatment room that had just emptied out, but wasn’t yet occupied, since it was being cleaned by an orderly. Dr. Early jammed the x-rays into the light box, and looked at them critically.

“The skull doesn’t have any fractures,” he said after a few moments. “And the cervical spine looks completely fine. Honestly, I think what we should do is just admit him for overnight observation, and watch carefully for any new signs or symptoms. If he does well overnight, I could release him home, as long as there’s someone who can keep an eye on him. Do you know what his living situation is?”

Roy chewed the inside of his lip for a moment before answering. He knew he couldn’t give a completely honest answer. “He lives by himself, and doesn’t have family in the area. Joanne and I would be happy to have him, if that’s better.”

“It might be,” Dr. Early said. “But Johnny will likely be in the same situation, and I know you and Joanne have often taken him in when he comes out of this place.”

“Well, I’ll get the guys together when I get back to the station, and we’ll come up with something,” Roy said, partly because it was true, and partly because he wanted to get out of this part of the conversation. There was no way in hell he could tell Dr. Early that they’d probably just put Johnny and Mike together in their guest room. “Tell Johnny and Mike not to worry about that—I’ll make sure they’re picked up and taken care of when they’re discharged.”

Dr. Early nodded. “I’m sure you will. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a profession where co-workers are as loyal to each other than in the fire department.”

Roy smiled. “That’s for sure. We’re not just co-workers. We mean it when we say we’re a brotherhood. People on the outside don’t always get it, but it’s true.”

“Well, whatever you fellows work out for your brothers, I’m sure they’ll be in good hands.”

“They will.”

“Now let’s go see those brothers of yours.”

Roy and Dr. Early returned to the treatment room.

“Good news, Mr. Stoker,” Dr. Early began.

“One thing, Doc,” Mike interrupted. “If you call me that, I’ll think you’re talking to my dad, who’s not here, thank goodness, or my uncle, who’s dead. And then I’d think you were crazy. So just call me Mike, and then I’ll know who you’re talking to. But what were you going to say? Something about good news?”

“All right, then, Mike. Your neck and skull x-rays look fine, so we can get you off the backboard and resting more comfortably,” Dr. Early said. He and Roy undid the buckles on the backboard straps, and Roy removed the cervical collar from around Mike’s neck. The two of them then rolled Mike slightly, and slid the backboard out from under him.

Roy could see Johnny looking on anxiously as Mike rubbed his neck, but didn’t attempt to sit up.

“Are you still having some dizziness?” Dr. Early asked Mike.

“Yeah—kind of a lot, actually. It’s even worse if I close my eyes. Which doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Well, you can just keep them open, then. I need to take a look in your eyes in any case. Are you comfortable lying flat for a few more moments?”

“Honestly, Doc, I think if I sat up I might puke. So I’ll just stay down.”

“All right. I’m just going to use a bright light to look at your retinas—the backs of your eyes. That will help me see if there’s any evidence of increased pressure in your brain.”

“Okay.”

Mike held still and managed to stay quiet while Dr. Early performed the eye exam.

“Everything looks fine, Mike,” Dr. Early said. 

“That’s good. I mean, except for everything spinning around, I think my eyes are fine. But you said something about brain pressure? It sure feels like my head is about to explode. I mean, yeah, I’ve kinda got a headache, but that’s not what I mean. It’s more like … I don’t know.”

“Ah. I’d like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, Doc. Fire away.”

“It seems like you might be talking more than usual. Do you feel like you’re behaving any differently from how you usually behave?”

“I’ll say. I just can’t shut up. And I’m gonna get in really, really, _really_ big trouble if this keeps up. Because everything I think just comes right out my mouth. And believe me, that’s a _terrible_ idea. Because there’s lots of stuff I shouldn’t say, and right now it seems like I just say anything that pops into my head. Well,” he said, frowning, “not _everything_ I think, I guess, but way too much. I mean, for instance, I can look at Nurse McCall’s eyelashes and not have to say ‘wow, it must really hurt when you have to peel those off,’ and that sort of stuff. But—” Mike interrupted himself by clamping a hand over his own mouth. “Shoot. Yeah. I just can’t shut up. What’s the matter with me, Doc?”

“You’ve had a fairly severe concussion. My opinion is that your brain is not swelling—you aren’t showing any signs of increased intracranial pressure, which can cause some very serious problems. But, you had a blow to the head that was significant enough that you were unconscious for several minutes. You’ve only been conscious again for a very short time, and other than the dizziness and the slight loss of verbal inhibition, I’d say you’re doing just fine.”

“But—but—will it go away?”

“Most likely it will. The best thing you can do right now is to rest, and try to stay calm, which I know is hard. We’re going to admit you overnight, so we can make sure everything is going the direction it should go, all right?”

“What does that mean, ‘the direction it should go?’” Mike said.

Johnny’s heart fell for Mike, hearing the anxiety creep into his voice. What he really wanted was to be able to hold his hand, and stroke his hair, and tell him that everything was going to be okay, and he couldn’t do either of those things.

“Very rarely, when someone has a blow to the head, there can be slow bleeding that will cause pressure on the brain hours later. We’d already know if you had the kind of brain bleed that was fast—you don’t need to worry about that. But we like to keep an eye on people, overnight at least, when they’ve had the degree of concussion you’ve had, just to make sure that extremely unlikely complication hasn’t occurred. A nurse will wake you every so often to make sure you’re doing well.”

“So … so you mean I could get worse instead of better? This is freaking me out, Doc—why can’t you tell now what’s happening?”

“We just don’t have a good way to look inside people’s heads yet, Mike. Maybe someday we will, but we don’t, today. Now, is there anyone you’d like us to call, to let them know you’re in the hospital tonight?”

“Um, no. I mean the guys on my crew all know already. And the most important thing is that J—”

Johnny interrupted, realizing Mike’s verbal diarrhea was about to get both of them in trouble. “Mike, do you want someone to call your parents?” He concluded his sentence with a bout of coughing. 

“Oh. Uh, I guess not. It’s probably best not to even mention things like this to them. So thanks, but no.”

“All right,” said Dr. Early. “It’s extremely busy down here right now, but we’ll get you set up with a room as soon as we can. Until then, just try to lie quietly, okay?”

“I’ll try. I’ll really try.” 

“Good,” Dr. Early said, turning to the exam table. “Now. Johnny, let’s have another listen to those lungs.”

Johnny cooperatively breathed in and out as deeply as he could. He tried, hard, not to cough, but he just couldn’t help it.

“You, my friend, are are also going to be a guest at the Rampart Inn tonight.”

“Figured,” Johnny said. 

“Humidified oxygen, albuterol, and coughing up the rest of that soot are all in the cards for you. And you and Mike can fight over who gets the first chest x-ray.”

“’kay.”

“I’ll go start making arrangements to get you situated upstairs,” Dixie said. “I know it’s pretty busy up there, but last I heard, there was one room that just emptied out. I know you’d both probably prefer to rest on your own, but that’s just not in the cards.”

“Oh, it’s okay, Miss McCall. You know, one night out of every three, our crew of six shares a big dorm room. Besides, Johnny and I get along real well, right Johnny?”

Johnny wisely just nodded and gave Dixie a thumbs up. He also put a finger to his lips to shush Mike.

“Oops—shutting up.” He paused briefly. “This is really weird.”

“It should pass,” Dr. Early said. “I’m going to go write the orders for you each to have a chest x-ray—you, Mike, to make sure that flying hose didn’t crack anything, and you, Johnny, to get a picture of those lungs of yours. And of course the orders to admit each of you.”

“I’m just going to step outside and see if I can get Cap on the radio,” Roy said. “Let him know he’s gonna need two subs for the rest of the shift.”

Mike laughed. “Good luck to him with that, getting two subs for one shift! You guys’ll probably just get stood down. Unless you sub in as Engineer and they just stand down the squad. I mean, you passed the test and all, so you’d be fine.”

Roy looked at him, brows raised appreciatively. “Not a bad idea from someone with such a scrambled brain. Thanks, Mike. I’ll pass that suggestion along.”

“But you better be damned careful with my fire engine, DeSoto!” Mike called as Roy left the room. “One scratch on her when I get back, and your ass is grass!” Mike’s eyes widened, and he shoved his fist against his mouth as he realized he’d just said ‘ass’ in front of a woman.

Dr. Early followed Roy from the room. 

Dixie looked at the two of them. “Can you guys keep an eye on each other for a few minutes?”

Johnny nodded.

“Sure thing, Miss McCall. Sorry about the eyelashes thing. And the ass is grass thing.”

“Now, don’t you worry. And actually, it only stings for a second.”

Johnny tried to say something, but ended up coughing, gagging, and spitting instead, as Dixie left the room.

“Jesus, babe—that really sounds terrible. I’d get up and come over to, I don’t know, rub your back or something, but then we both might need one of those bags there.”

Johnny wrote something in the notebook Roy had left behind, ripped the sheet off, and took one step off the table to hand the page to Mike.

“ _Love you. Just rest_.”

Mike folded up the paper and clenched it tightly in his hand. “Love you too,” he said quietly. 

Johnny wrote again, and passed Mike the note.

“ _Try to close your eyes again. Think of something you like to look at, and focus on that._ ”

“Okay. Uh oh. You see, a lotta the things I really like to look at I kinda shouldn’t be thinking about right now, if you know what I mean. So I just gotta figure out something to think about that I like to look at but that isn’t gonna give me a hard-on. Oh—okay. Yeah. That’ll do it. Sequoia National Park. Lying at the bottom of one of those huge trees and looking up. Here goes.” 

Johnny watched as Mike closed his eyes slowly. He could see some of the tension leaving Mike’s shoulders and neck, and noticed Mike’s hands finally let go of the edges of the gurney. As he saw Mike relax, he found he was able to take slightly deeper breaths than he had been before. Johnny concentrated on breathing without coughing. He managed to get a few good breaths in, and could almost imagine that the air sacs at the bottoms of his lungs were opening again, but his exercise in mental imagery was cut short by another bout of coughing and gagging. At least the phlegm was starting to have less soot in it. Or else there was more phlegm to dilute the soot. In any case, it was better for the soot to be out than in, he thought.

The same x-ray tech who had done Mike’s c-spine and skull pictures pushed a wheelchair into the room. “Mr. Gage?”

Johnny raised his hand. 

“Dr. Early would like you to get a chest x-ray now.”

Johnny nodded and gave him a thumbs up. He turned the O2 off, and unhooked the tubing from around his ears. 

“Hey, it’s working,” Mike said, as Johnny sat down in the wheelchair. “Not quite so dizzy.”

“Great. Back soon,” Johnny managed, as the tech wheeled him out of the room.

Mike cracked an eye open to watch Johnny be wheeled backwards out the door. He closed his eyes again, and returned to his image of the tree. As the vertigo subsided, Mike let his mind wander to other pleasant images, and ended up settling on an image of Johnny sleeping in Mike’s own bed. As he focused on that pleasant image, a thought started to form in his concussed brain. 

Had Johnny neglected his own health to help him when the supply line blew off the truck?

Mike thought back to his first memory after the accident. He remembered something waking him up, but he wasn’t sure what, and he couldn’t move, and everything hurt, and Johnny was there, so everything was okay, but then it wasn’t, because Johnny was touching him, but then pulled away from him, and Mike just didn’t understand.

Where had Roy been at the time? Oh, right—he’d had a patient to work on. But the question remained: did Johnny put himself in jeopardy to help his boyfriend, who he shouldn’t have been working with in the first place?

Possibly.

_Shit._

Mike’s head was spinning again, but this time, it was anxiety that caused the whirling. He started to imagine not working with the A-shift at 51s anymore. 

It didn’t work.

He tried to imagine Johnny transferring, and Roy having a different partner.

That didn’t work either.

Mike let his head spin freely for a while, coming up with the worst-case-scenarios he was so good at imagining. Just when things were starting to really get out of hand, there was a knock at the door. Mike opened his eyes, and called “C’mon in.” Roy peered in tentatively, then once he saw the room was still occupied by his shift-mate, he stepped all the way in.

“How’re you doing, Mike?” he asked. 

Mike closed his eyes again. 

“That good, huh,” Roy said. “You need a barf basin?”

“No—no, that’s not it. I’m feeling a lot better. But Roy, I have to ask you something.”

“All right.” Roy pulled a rolling stool over to the gurney, and sat down. “Sock it to me.”

“Did …” Mike sighed, not quite sure how to phrase his question. He was well aware that Roy didn’t think it was a good idea for him and Johnny to be working with each other. But he decided that with Roy, the direct approach was best. “Did Johnny put his own health in danger to help me?”

Roy frowned slightly. “I understand what you’re getting at, Mike. I was just thinking about that myself. But I think you’re asking the wrong question. To sort of answer your question, it’s true he probably should’ve been a patient himself at the point that you went down. But the real question is, what were the choices at the time? And the other question is, would he have done the same for any guy on our crew?”

Mike looked back at Roy. “What are the answers to those questions?”

“I think you know the answer to the second question. You’ve seen it before—we’ve _all_ seen it before. He would absolutely put the health and safety of any one of us over his own. And the answer to the first question is, there _weren’t_ any good choices in that situation. I had a patient who needed constant monitoring. Johnny was functional. You were unresponsive, and we didn’t know how bad you were. It was the right choice for Johnny to go to you. If there had been another squad, I would’ve restrained him bodily to keep him on the oxygen. But there wasn’t. He made the right choice, Mike.”

The whirling slowed, and stopped, as Mike realized Roy was right on all counts. 

“Okay. Thanks. I was kind of hazy on what all happened, so thanks for clarifying.”

“You’re welcome.” Roy paused. “But that still doesn’t mean I think you guys should be working on the same shift.”

Mike looked away. “I’m starting to agree, but like you said before, I don’t think there are any better choices.”

“No. No, I guess there aren’t.”

“Thanks, Roy.”

Roy tilted his head. “What for?”

“For … I’m not sure. For being honest. For at least _trying_ to understand.” Mike rubbed his temples, realizing he was getting a headache. Or, he realized, it was more likely that he’d had a headache all along, but was just starting to feel it, now that the other noise from his body and mind was subsiding.

“You’re welcome. I think I oughta let you rest.”

“Okay. Yeah, I guess I’m still not feeling great.”

“I would imagine not. The last time I had a concussion, I felt really lousy until I finally got a good night’s sleep—which you won’t get tonight, because they’re going to wake you up every hour or two to make sure you’re still oriented and haven’t developed any new symptoms.”

Mike frowned. “So that’ll probably wake Johnny up too. Maybe I should ask for a different room.”

Roy shook his head. “They’ll be bother him every couple of hours, too, for different reasons. Plus. the medication he’ll be getting for his breathing will probably keep him awake most of the night anyhow. Besides, he never sleeps well at Rampart, no matter what he’s in for.”

The door opened just in time for Johnny to hear Roy’s last comment.

“’s true,” he said.

“No talking,” Mike reminded him. He was rewarded with an epic eye roll.

“And Mr. Stoker, you’re next up for the chest x-ray. For you, Dr. Early wants to rule out any fractures in your sternum or ribs. Sorry to drag you down to x-ray again, but we couldn’t really get the proper angles easily with you still immobilized.”

“No problem. My calendar’s been cleared for the rest of the day, apparently.”

The radiology tech chuckled. “Oh, that’s what you think. They’re always telling you to rest in the hospital, but then they keep bothering you. You’ve got a schedule—trust me. You just don’t know what it is yet. For now, why don’t you go ahead and sit up slowly.”

Roy acted as a spotter for Mike, who sat on the edge of the gurney and got his bearings.

“Okay?” Roy asked.

“Yeah. A little dizzy, but not too bad.”

“All right. I’ll spot you while you get into the wheelchair.”

Mike wobbled a little as he transferred himself from the gurney to the chair.

“Whew. Okay—uh, I guess I’m ready to go.”

“I’ll take the turns really carefully,” said the x-ray tech. 

“Thanks,” Mike said. 

The tech wheeled Mike out the door, and suddenly Treatment 2 was quiet again.

Johnny let himself be helped back up onto the exam table, and put the nasal cannula back on. Roy turned the oxygen flow back on, as Johnny started scribbling in the notebook again.

“Were you gonna ask if Mike asked about what you did when he went down?”

Johnny stopped scribbling, and nodded.

“Of course he did. And what I told him was that you should’ve been a patient yourself at that point, but that there wasn’t a choice. And that you would’ve done the same for anyone.”

Johnny nodded, but then frowned. He scribbled, and handed Roy the note.

“ _But I freaked out. In front of Cap, and on the Biophone._ ”

“I wasn’t there,” Roy said, “but how could you _not_ freak out? I mean, Mike could’ve been way, way worse than he actually turned out to be. And Dr. Early did talk to me, but he was only concerned about your welfare. Plus, he knows you were already working on a nice case of smoke inhalation at that point. He probably would’ve followed up with me if he thought there was anything unusual going on. And as for Captain Stanley … you did your job well, right?”

Johnny sighed, and wrote again.

“ _He had to pretty much tell me to calm down. Said it wasn’t like me._ ”

“Was he right?”

Johnny looked down, and nodded. He wrote again, and passed the note to Roy.

“D _on’t think M or I said or did anything weird. He_ _almost_ _did, ‘cause he didn’t know what was going on. But I don’t think we got caught._ ”

“Look,” Roy said. “If you’re worried that Cap figured anything out, the answer is that I seriously doubt it. You guys are so discreet on the job that I don’t even ever see anything, and I’m _looking_ for it. Just like you asked me to. Okay?”

Johnny made the “okay” sign.

“And as long as you guys can behave yourselves as hospital roommates, I doubt there’ll be any fallout.” Roy looked sternly at Johnny. “And I certainly _hope_ you can behave yourselves.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Johnny said. 

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and neither felt the need to fill the silence. Johnny reflected on how since he’d gotten together with Mike, he didn’t feel the need to run his mouth as much. 

“By the way,” Roy said. “Mike started seeming more like himself while you were out getting x-rayed.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. He was still talking more than I’m used to, but actually, he’s been talking more in the last few months anyhow. But he wasn’t talking frantically, like he was when you guys were first in here,” Roy said.

“Good,” Johnny said. 

There was a tentative tapping at the door. Roy went to see who was there. He opened the door, and found a very worried-looking Chet Kelly standing there. He motioned him inside.

“Hey, Chet—you guys all mopped up down at that scene?”

“Yeah—hey, Johnny. I heard you ate some smoke.”

Johnny nodded. 

“We’re trying to keep him quiet,” Roy said. “I don’t think anything anyone says or does really works, but when he talks, he coughs and gags. That seems to be doing the trick.”

Chet surprised everyone in the room, including himself, by not making a smart remark about finally finding a way to shut Johnny up.

“And Stoker?”

“He’s concussed, and is gonna have a hell of a bruise from the supply line coupling, but he’s conscious and getting to be more or less back to himself. They’ve got him down in x-ray just to make sure he didn’t crack his sternum or any ribs, or anything. And they’re admitting him for overnight observation, just because his concussion was pretty severe.”

“Wow—did either of you guys see what the hell happened to him?”

Johnny shook his head.

“Not exactly,” Roy said. “It looked like the supply line blew off the intake on the engine, for some reason. It must’ve hit him in the chest, and then he cracked his head on a bench a couple yards away. You can pretty much see the outline of the supply line’s coupling on his chest.”

“Geez. Marco and I were outside the back of the building, and all we could tell was that we suddenly lost pressure. And we could tell _that_ by the way Marco fell on his face when the line went dry.”

Johnny scribbled something and handed it to Chet.

“ _Glad you were outside._ ”

“Man, that’s for sure.”

The three of them contemplated the extremely unpleasant idea of being inside a burning building and suddenly having your water disappear.

The door opened again, and when the x-ray tech wheeled Mike back into the exam room, two-thirds of the A-shift of Station 51 crowded the small room.

“Stoker!” Chet said.

“Oh, man—please please please tell me you weren’t inside when we lost water pressure,” Mike said immediately.

“We were outside,” Chet said. “Everything’s cool. It wasn’t your fault, anyhow.”

“How do you know?” Mike said. “I mean, I don’t remember a thing. Maybe I screwed up royally. Maybe I made some stupid probie mistake that I should be fired for. Or maybe I wasn’t paying attention, and could’ve averted a problem if I’d been paying attention to the pump panel. Or maybe—”

“Whoa, man,” Chet said, as he shook his head. “Nope. Cap’n Stanley and another one of the Caps on the scene were looking at the pump panel, and they said it was definitely equipment failure. I didn’t catch exactly what, though. But anyhow—we’re stood down. Roy, you and I are supposed to get back to the station. They may sub us in at other stations, so we need to be ready to go.”

“These guys aren’t going anywhere except upstairs,” Roy said.

“Yeah, Cap figured they’d keep Stoker, and he also said Gage wasn’t looking so hot either. Anyhow—DeSoto, we oughta go.”

“You guys behave yourselves upstairs, all right?” Roy said, as he got up to leave. “Remember, they won’t let you go until they’re sure you won’t make yourselves worse by getting out.”

“To be honest, I don’t feel like doing anything but lying there and staring at the ceiling,” Mike said. “So I think we’ll be all right.”

“We’ll call you guys later, to see how things are going. Rest easy, okay?” Roy said.

Johnny nodded. 

“We will,” Mike said. “Thanks, guys.”

Dixie came back into the room before Chet and Roy were able to leave. 

“This is starting to look more like a firehouse than a hospital,” she said. 

“Kelly and I are on our way out,” Roy said. 

“We’ll keep you posted, Roy,” Dixie said. 

“Thanks.” Roy and Chet left the treatment room.

“Well, you two,” Dixie said, “room 319 is ready and waiting. Dr. Early said I can go ahead and take you both up.”

Johnny scrawled quickly on the notepad, and passed it to Dixie.

“ _Shower? I’m begging._ ”

“We’ll have to see what Dr. Early says,” Dixie said. 

Johnny nodded.

“Mike, you’re in the wheelchair already. How about if we get you settled in the room right now, and then I’ll bring your roommate up shortly.”

“Sure,” Mike said. “But is someone going to watch him while we’re up there?”

Johnny glowered at Mike. 

“Oh, I think we can trust him by himself for a little while, don’t you? Plus, with nobody here, he won’t be tempted to talk.”

“True,” Mike said. “See you in a few, Gage.”

Johnny nodded, and lay back on the exam table, eyes closed. He felt like crap. No two ways about it. But, he knew it wouldn’t be long before he felt better. He just needed to breathe and cough and piss the smoke’s toxins out of his system, which would be unpleasant, but necessary, and hopefully short. And then, when he was out of Rampart, he was sure Roy would have something to say to him about running to Mike today. Or maybe not. Roy was a reasonable guy; he’d probably realize there really wasn’t a better choice. Still, Johnny was expecting an earful from his partner.

But for now, he’d just close his eyes. Just for a second …

~!~!~!~

“Johnny?” said a woman’s voice.

That wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be waking up to a woman’s voice. Who…? Oh. Right.

He opened his eyes, to see Dixie waiting with a wheelchair. He coughed, with a deep, wet rumble, and spat, and turned on the exam table so his legs dangled to the floor.

“Give yourself a second, okay?” Dixie said.

Johnny nodded. He reached for the notepad. 

“ _Mike okay?_ ”

Dixie laughed. “He’s entertaining, all right. He talked my ear off the whole way up, mostly about how he was going to kill you if you weren’t okay. He’d ask me a question about smoke inhalation, and then interrupt me before I finished answering with another question. And then he’d start off on some tangent. I think he’s pretty worried about you.”

Johnny sighed, and coughed, and wrote again. “ _He’s still not acting right._ ”

“Johnny, it’s only been about an hour since his brain got knocked around. Try not to worry. I know it’s easier said than done, but try. Please.”

Johnny nodded.

“You ready to transfer?”

He nodded again, and put his weight on his feet cautiously, and turned and sat in the wheelchair.

“Okay?” Dixie said.

Once again, Johnny nodded. 

The trip to room 319 was mercifully short. Johnny hated being in the hospital, and hated being sooty and filthy and sweaty, but all he wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep. Preferably with Mike, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. At least he was in the next bed, rather than the next room.

As Dixie pushed the wheelchair through the door, Mike piped up right away.

“There you are! So if you could talk without gagging, this is where you’d say ‘Hi honey, I’m home!’”

“Mike, remember you’re supposed to try to stay quiet too, all right?” Dixie said, demonstrating great control in keeping a straight face. At the same time, a picture was forming in her mind, but she put it aside, because it just didn’t make any sense at all. 

“Whoops. Sorry,” Mike said.

Johnny cooperated while Dixie helped him out of his uniform and into the dreaded hospital gown. He’d long ago given up on modesty in the hospital situation, because nobody cared. He had to admit he’d be a little more comfortable with the floor nurse, who’d probably be a total stranger, than with Dixie, but she wanted to help, and he knew it. She hooked his O2 up to the wall, and opened the valve.

“You two need anything before I leave you in the capable hands of Mrs. Williams, your nurse for this shift?”

Johnny shook his head, and Mike replied. “Nope. Well, unless there’s anything I’m allowed to get for this headache. Because it’s really pretty bad. Not that I want to whine, or anything, because I’m really not the whining sort—or at least I don’t think I am—but it’s pretty bad.”

“I’ll let Mrs. Williams know. I’m sure there’s something the doctor will let you have.” Dixie gave them both one last look. “You two take care. I’ll stop by at the end of my shift, okay?”

“Thanks,” Johnny croaked.

The door swung shut, and they were finally alone.

“You okay?” Johnny asked, and coughed.

“I guess. I mean, except for the headache and the dizziness, and the impression of a large-diameter supply line coupling on my chest. How about you, babe?” Mike winced as he rolled over to look at Johnny more closely. “I’m worried, you know, because you sound like you’re getting worse instead of better.”

“I’ll be okay. Hate it here.” 

“Think of it this way: at least this time you’ve got some company, right?”

Johnny smiled slightly. “Too far away.”

“Yeah. Good company that’s feeling really, really far away right now. I hate this already,” Mike said. “You’re right there, and you feel like shit, and I feel like shit, and what I really want to do is for both of us to curl up in a big comfy bed and sleep it off together.”

“Tomorrow,” Johnny croaked. 

Mike smiled. “Yeah. Tomorrow. First thing when they let us out.”

Mike pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Damn, I have a splitting headache. At least I’m getting a little less dizzy, I guess. And that bruise is definitely gonna be something to write home about. I mean, you can practically _see_ the outline of the coupling on my chest, and the part on my ribs is definitely the imprint of a supply line. I really wish I could remember what happened,” Mike said. “I mean, did I screw up in some way? I’ll probably never know, huh?”

Johnny shook his head. 

“That’s the worst thing about this—there’s this gap in my memory. From my perspective, one minute, you and I were schooling Kelly and Lopez in half-court, and then suddenly my teeth were buzzing, and I could hear static, and I was lying on the ground looking up at you, and let me tell you, you were completely freaked out, and I had no idea where we were and what had just happened.”

“Yeah. I kinda lost it a little.” Johnny cleared his throat. He knew he shouldn’t be trying to talk, but he just had to reassure Mike. “And your memories might come back, or might n—” Johnny coughed heavily, and spat in the basin again. He coughed some more, and this time he couldn’t figure out how to stop. It felt like something noxious was sitting right on his vocal cords, making his throat get all mucousy. His eyes watered profusely, and he coughed, spat, and gagged, and just kept right on coughing. 

Mike started to get alarmed when Johnny was looking a little purple. He pushed the call bell, just as Johnny began retching and vomiting. Mike sat up, ignoring the pain in his chest and side, and doing his best to ignore the wave of dizziness that came over him, grabbed a larger basin from the table beside his own bed. He took the overflowing emesis basin from Johnny and plopped the whole thing into the larger pink basin he set in front of Johnny. He held Johnny’s hair off his forehead and steadied the basin with one hand and held Johnny’s head with the other as Johnny heaved and retched and coughed for what seemed like forever. His face grew pale yet purple, and his nailbeds were an alarmingly blue shade.

The nurse walked in just as Johnny’s stomach had apparently finished turning itself inside out. 

“Uh oh,” she said. “Let me get you some water to rinse with.”

She darted into the bathroom and returned with a plastic cup of water. Johnny took it from her, and rinsed and spat between coughs. He finally handed her the empty cup.

“Okay?” the nurse asked.

Johnny nodded and lay back in his bed. The head was elevated, so he was sitting practically upright. 

The nurse frowned at him. “I don’t think this nasal cannula is doing the trick,” she said. “You’re a little blue around the mouth, still. I’ll be right back with a mask, so we can get you on a higher percentage of O2.”

Johnny nodded, and closed his eyes.

The nurse finally turned her attention to Mike, who was standing there in his gown, looking and feeling completely helpless. “And you, Mr. Stoker! You shouldn’t be out of bed!”

“But he was—”

“ _My_ job is to help with things like this. _Your_ job is to lie in your bed, and rest.”

“But he needed—”

“No buts, Mr. Stoker. Back in your bed.”

“But—”

“Bed! Or do I need to call an orderly?”

Mike bowed to the inevitable, and returned to his bed. “The thing is, though, he can’t talk without, you know, and he’s too far away to pass me notes. What we really need is like a little clothesline.” Mike mimed hang something up on a line and pulling the line across a pulley. “So we could pass each other notes. You know?”

Johnny scribbled furiously on his notepad, and handed the note to the nurse, gesturing to her to hand it to Mike. The effort seemed to have tired him out, as he flopped back against the raised head of the bed.

Mrs. Williams read the note, and handed it to Mike, who snatched it out of her hand indignantly.

“ _Stop , Mikey. Close your eyes and think of that tree. We’re both gonna be fine. But I need to rest, and to do that, I need you to be quiet and rest. So rest.”_

“I suggest you take his advice,” Mrs. Williams said. “Because this is not a pajama party! You are both here because you need rest and medical supervision, and I intend to make sure you each get both. We don’t have any empty rooms on the medical floor right now, but I’d be more than happy to move one of you to the pediatrics floor if necessary. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

“Crystal,” Mike said.

“Mr. Gage?”

Johnny nodded.

“Good. Now, I’d like to suggest that both of you try to close your eyes for a little while. Mr. Gage, I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail with a non-rebreather mask for you; so don’t fall asleep quite yet.” Nurse Williams turned on her heel, and left the room.

“Sorry, babe. I’ll try to shut up now.”

“’s okay,” Johnny said. He had been contemplating feigning sleep to see if that would stop Mike from talking, but he realized he wasn’t going to have to pretend. He let his eyes close, and, just as Mrs. Williams had advised him not to do, he fell asleep. He didn’t stir when Nurse Williams came back in and replaced the cannula with the mask.

**TBC**


	27. Inpatient

**Chapter 27: Inpatient**

Mike watched as the nurse replaced the nasal cannula with a mask, and for the millionth time was envious of Johnny’s ability to sleep through anything. But he could soon tell that Johnny wasn’t sleeping well at all. It seemed like he coughed every minute, and Mike assumed he must just be swallowing all the crud he was bringing up. He debated calling the nurse to ask her if that was okay, but restrained himself—for what felt like the first time in hours—when he realized she had just been in the room, and had seen for herself that Johnny was asleep.

The dizziness was subsiding, Mike thought, since he was able to focus on a single point in the room and not feel like it was moving. With nobody else awake in the room, he didn’t have the urge to talk constantly, though he still felt like his brain was buzzing with thoughts. His headache was still intense, but seemed to be diminishing slowly. If he didn’t move his head, he could close his eyes, and maybe he would even be able to sleep a little, although it was only around five thirty in the afternoon.

Even though he could stop talking, Mike realized he couldn’t stop thinking. He went over, and over, and over, everything that he remembered since regaining consciousness. He couldn’t help revisiting the feeling of thinking, if even just for a minute, that it was just a dream that he and Johnny were together. He recalled the panic, the terror, that what had seemed so perfect, so right, was all in his imagination.

He could stop talking, finally—maybe just because there wasn’t anyone to talk _at_ —but he couldn’t turn his brain off. He tried some of the techniques he’d worked on with Dr. Pritchard—the ones that were able to get his mind of distressing topics pretty much whenever he needed that to happen. Nothing worked.

Mike’s heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, and the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away. His palms were sweating, and he was certain that if he held his hands out in front of him they would shake. He looked over at Johnny, and tried to reassure himself that they were fine—Johnny would be fine, and they’d go home together soon and sleep off the residue of today’s disasters. But all he could think about was the Wizard of Oz feeling—seeing everything that had once been in glorious, brilliant Technicolor in black and white, and wondering whether the last few months with Johnny had been a dream his subconscious had created for him when he was unconscious.

He tried to remember what Johnny had said when they were alone briefly in the ambulance. Something reassuring, no doubt, but it was all a foggy, sticky mess in his swirling brain. Johnny coughed again, stirring and frowning in his sleep, and Mike wondered whether it even would have been possible for Johnny to say something to him at that point. He tried again to find some image to settle his brain on—something that would remind him that the last few months were real. Because rationally, he knew he wasn’t making it up. The relationship, and the memories, were real.

Or were they?

Mike’s mind flashed back to a hazy image of Johnny yanking his hand away from Mike’s searching one, and the feeling of panic at this rejection. His heart rate surged again, and he started to feel like he couldn’t breathe. Even though he knew that breathing faster was the worst thing to do, he couldn’t help it—he felt like he wasn’t getting enough air.

Mike leaned over to the table next to his bed, and immediately regretted his too-rapid movement. He moved back more slowly, holding the phone, and gave himself a minute to get his equilibrium before dialing.

He knew the number by heart, partly because he’d called it often for routine things—confirming appointments, and so on—and partly because he’d intentionally committed it to memory just in case he needed it in an emergency. He dialed the number, and hoped he’d get Dr. Pritchard himself rather than the answering service.

“ _Dr. Pritchard_ ,” came the reply.

Mike winced as his sigh of relief stabbed pain into his chest.

“Doc, it’s Mike Stoker. I’m having a lot of trouble—I need help—please. I know it’s late—but please. I’m going nuts, and I just can’t stop it, can’t turn the brain off, and I—”

“ _All right, Mike—it’s okay. Can you tell me over the phone what happened, and what’s going on now, or do you want to come in? I’m free right now, if you want to come in to the office._ ”

“I can’t, I can’t! I’m stuck at Rampart, and I don’t even know what room they put me in, because I couldn’t pay attention to that on the way up, ‘cause my head was spinning so bad, and I’m so fucked up! I guess I could tell you about it on the phone. Yeah, I guess I can—it won’t wake him up. Nothing does.”

“ _Hang on—are you a_ patient _at Rampart?_ ”

“Uh, yeah, but like I said, I don’t really know what room I’m even in, and Johnny’s just as messed up as me; maybe even more. But here’s what happened. We were at a fire, and I got knocked out cold, and now my head’s all fucked up, and I’m stuck on this one thing, and—”

“ _Mike. Hang on. My office is ten minutes from Rampart. How about if I come over, and we’ll talk. Okay?_ ”

“Really? You can do that? Because I’m pretty sure visiting hours aren’t until like eight, and they just admitted us, and—”

“ _Mike, I’m your doctor. I have hospital privileges at Rampart. I can come in any time I have a patient here, as long as it doesn’t interfere with other medical care. I’m assuming you’re stable and comfortable, from how you’re talking, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Okay? So I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes, if that’s all right with you._ ”

“Yeah, that’s great. I’m not going anywhere, apparently. Thanks a whole lot. I guess they can tell you where to find me when you get here.”

“ _I’m sure they can. I’ll see you soon._ ”

They ended their conversation, and Mike put the phone back, moving more carefully this time. He had a sip of water, and was relieved that it seemed to settle his stomach somewhat. He watched as Johnny slept fitfully, coughing in his sleep, and tossing and turning far more than he usually did.

A particularly vicious coughing spell woke Johnny, and he retched and gagged, eyes watering. He lifted the mask that was delivering high-concentration humidified oxygen, spat into his basin, and slumped back into the elevated head of the bed, exhausted.

“Hey, babe—don’t say anything, okay?” Mike said, turning to Johnny’s side of the room cautiously, so as not to restart the vertigo. “Can you give me a thumbs-up if you’re feeling any better?”

Johnny smiled back at him weakly, and gave him a thumbs-up sign, and coughed and spat yet again. He pointed to Mike, and gestured thumbs-up, thumbs-down, and an ambiguous hand-waggle, and the pointed to Mike again and shrugged.

“If you’re asking how I am, my head’s not spinning as much, but I can’t seem to slow my brain down. It’s like anything I try just makes it worse.”

Johnny cleared his throat, and before Mike knew what Johnny was planning, Johnny spoke.

“Sequoia. Go there.” He coughed a little, but didn’t gag.

“Tried it. I was shooting for calm and peaceful, but I just ended up climbing one of the trees, so that was no good. And then it turned back into the same … Johnny … I keep getting stuck thinking about how it felt when I thought you and I were all in my imagination. I can’t stop _thinking_ about it! I’m just stuck on it, and it feels awful! It’s just going around, and around, and around, and it _won’t_ _stop_!” Mike’s hands were clenched in his hair, as if he were trying to pull the bad thoughts out of his head by the roots of his hair.

“Hey,” Johnny said. He glanced at the door, which was thoroughly shut. “Love you. ‘kay?”

“Love you too. But I can’t stop going to that memory—it’s like a broken record. Fuck, that sounds trite. But that’s how it is.”

“Really love you,” Johnny said. “Never doubt it.”

Mike’s eyes filled slightly, that Johnny was able to say that to Mike just as Mike had admitted how messed up his head was at the moment.

“I know. I _know_ you do. Which is why it’s so crazy that I’m so stuck.”

Johnny lifted his mask again for a sip of water. He pointed to the phone. “Call your doc?”

Mike nodded. “He’s coming, actually. I hope you don’t mind. I don’t wanna bother you while you’re trying to rest.”

“You never bother me.” Johnny coughed, and the cough sounded less rattly than the previous one, to Mike’s untrained ear. “Unless you’re lyin’ there in a heap, unresponsive, and I don’t know how bad you are.”

“I should go to a different room,” Mike said, watching helplessly as Johnny had another coughing fit. “We can’t help talking to each other, especially since there’s half a room between us. If I could just hold on to you, I could stop talking to you, I think, but that’s not gonna happen while we’re stuck in here. And I’m freaked out, so you’re gonna try to calm me down, so as long as I’m here, freaking out—I mean, I feel like my head is spinning like that freaky kid in that Exorcist movie, that’s how crazy it is in here right now—as long as I’m here, you’re gonna try to talk me down, and then you’re gonna cough and hurl and—”

Johnny shook his head. “I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Maybe _you_ should go to Sequoia in your head for a while,” Mike suggested.

Both men jumped slightly as the door opened, and an unfamiliar man in a white coat came in. Mike and Johnny looked at each other, wondering what kind of doctor he was, and who he was there for.

“Mr. Gage?”

Johnny raised his hand.

“I’m Dr. Echols, and I’m a pulmonologist—that’s a lung specialist. Dr. Early downstairs in the ER asked me to have a look at you.”

Johnny nodded. “Ate some smoke,” he said, attempting not to sound too awful.

“A lot,” Mike said. “And he’s not supposed to talk a lot. That’s just like at the dentist—you’re lying there, in his chair, with a mouth full of tools that feel as big as a set of irons, and then he asks you a _question_? I mean, really, how are you supposed to—”

“Mike,” Johnny said.

That was all it took this time.

Mike shrank down into his bed.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said to the doctor. “I got a bad concussion, and now I can’t shut up. I’ll try. Sorry. Take care of him, okay? I think today he might be beyond the whole thing of trying to make it not sound as bad as it is, but it’s pretty bad. I mean, he puked so hard his fingers turned blue, and—”

“I read the chart. Thanks, though.”

“Right. I’ll just—actually, you know, if you close the curtain, maybe I can shut up.”

Dr. Echols closed the curtain, and Mike put his hands over his ears to avoid hearing anything the doctor was saying to Johnny, even though he was dying to know how he was doing, and what was going to happen.

It helped—for about fifteen seconds. Then Mike found himself thinking, yet again, about how Johnny pulled his hand away. Was it really true, that they were together? Yes: Mike remembered Johnny’s reassuring words in the ambulance, and again, just a few minutes ago. But the feeling—the sinking sensation that fell through his entire body, of believing that he’d imagined his and Johnny’s entire relationship, was overwhelming. Mike felt himself being swallowed by the feeling, and, hands pressed solidly over his ears, started withdrawing from the world.

On the other side of the curtain, Johnny cooperatively breathed in and out while the doctor listened intently to every field of each lobe of his lungs. Once again, he had to stop to hack and spit, but he managed to keep it at that, skipping the vomiting this time around.

“What’s the verdict?” he said, when the doctor was done listening.

“Well, your bloodwork doesn’t actually look all that bad. And your lung sounds are better than Dr. Early reported an hour ago. Everything seems to be opening up a bit—you’re no longer trapping much air—and my guess is that the fluid is decreasing. I want you to continue with the albuterol and the humidified oxygen—in fact, I’ll set you up with another nebulizer treatment before I go. But things look good. We’ll just keep an eye on you overnight, to make sure things continue to go the right direction—and I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t. Then you can probably go home in the morning. I see from your records you live on your own. Do you have someone you could stay with?”

Johnny nodded.

“Good. Any questions?”

Johnny held up two fingers. “How’s the guy we brought in?”

The doctor paused. “Let’s just say, it’s a good thing he got in as soon as he did. He should make it, though, if there aren’t any complications.”

Johnny nodded. “Can I take a shower?”

“If you can keep it under ten minutes, sure. The humidity will be good.”

Johnny laughed, which set off a coughing fit. He couldn’t really tell the good doctor that the reason he was laughing had to do with the fact that the only thing that could make a shower take longer than three minutes was lying in the next bed.

“Yes?” the doctor said, raising his eyebrows curiously.

“Fireman,” Johnny said. “Two minutes.”

“Well, don’t rush yourself. Five minutes is fine. Take it slow and easy, all right? And make sure a nurse is outside, in the room. I can call someone on my way out, if you like. You can get your shower, and get comfortable, and then get your next nebulizer treatment going.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said.

“You’re welcome. I’ll leave orders for albuterol every two hours, which I know isn’t fun when you’re trying to sleep, but it’ll get you better and out of here faster. And I’ll check in on you in the morning, to see if you’re okay for discharge.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said.

“You’re welcome. See you tomorrow. And I would say try to rest, but albuterol every two hours isn’t really conducive to that. But do your best.”

“Gotcha.”

The doctor left, leaving the curtain where it was.

Johnny cleared his throat. “Good job, Mikey,” he said, a little louder than normal, so he could be heard through the non-rebreather mask.

There was no response, except a sound that Johnny couldn’t quite identify.

“Mike? You okay?”

There was still no response; just the sounds.

Against his better judgment, which Johnny had been doing his best to exercise lately but which he found failed miserably with anything having to do with Mike Stoker, Johnny swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood up carefully, leaving his oxygen mask on the bed. He opened the curtain, and saw Mike curled in on himself in a fetal position, fingers over his eyes, and thumbs pressed into his ears.

“Shit—Mikey?” Johnny shook Mike’s shoulder gently. “What’s wrong, babe?”

Mike jerked at the touch, and reached out to touch Johnny, looking up at him with tear-reddened eyes.

“It’s real, right? We’re for real?”

Without thinking about where they were, or who might see, Johnny took Mike’s face in his hands and kissed him.

“It’s real,” Johnny said, leaving his hands on Mike’s face. “I love you, no matter what.” He bent down and kissed Mike again, but had to pull away when there was a tap on the door. In Johnny’s experience, which was vast, a tap on the door was usually followed by immediate entry.

In this case, though, the door opened slightly, and a voice asked, “Mike? It’s Bill Pritchard. Can I come in?”

Johnny stroked Mike’s hair one more time, kissed his forehead, and retreated to his bed.

Mike tried to pull himself together, and then realized that was a ridiculous way to spend his energy in the present company.

“Come on in, Bill,” Mike said, his voice still shaking.

Dr. Pritchard entered the room, nodding to Mike’s roommate as he pulled thecurtain shut and sat down next to Mike’s bed.

“Mike?”

“I’m so messed up,” Mike said, covering his face with his hands.

“All right—let me see if I can find a private place where we can talk. Maybe there’s an empty room, or—”

“My roommate is Johnny,” Mike said. “Sorry, I guess with all the babbling I didn’t get that part out clearly. So we don’t need to go anywhere. He knows everything.”

“Hi, Doc,” Johnny said from behind the curtain, his voice muffled by the non-rebreather mask. He coughed again, hard, and Mike could hear the sound of spitting.

Dr. Pritchard raised his substantial brows. “This is quite a situation you have here, Mike. So it’s okay if we talk here?”

“Great. Just open the curtain, will you? That whole ‘pay no attention to the man behind the curtain thing’ is making me think of the Wizard of Oz again.”

Dr. Pritchard stood up and opened the curtain between the two beds.

“Mr. Gage? Nice to meet you,” Dr. Pritchard said, extending a hand.

Johnny shook his hand. “Johnny,” he said. “Not s’posed to talk much.”

“That’s all right,” Pritchard said. “I think we’ll let Mike do most of the talking.” He turned back to Mike. “What happened, to land the two of you here?”

Mike started explaining, and he’d finished the part about how he was getting overwhelmed by intrusive thoughts of doubting whether his and Johnny’s relationship was real, when a nurse came in the room.

Dr. Pritchard introduced himself, showing the nurse his Rampart ID. The nurse turned to Johnny.

“Mr. Gage, Dr. Echols said you could have a shower, but that someone needed to be within earshot in case you had trouble. So I’ll be out here, and you can go ahead with your shower. Do you need a hand with anything?”

Mike and Johnny looked at each other, and Dr. Pritchard caught the note of panic in Mike’s gaze.

“Nurse, if it’s all right, I could be the person within earshot,” he said. “I’ll be here for a while for Mr. Stoker, and we need to speak privately, if at all possible.”

The nurse nodded. “That’s fine. Just use the call bell if anything happens.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Pritchard said.

“Thank _you_ ,” the nurse replied. “The floor is completely full tonight, so we all need every bit of help we can get.”

The nurse left the three of them alone again.

“Go have your shower, babe. I know how much you hate having sooty hair. And it probably doesn’t help with the coughing, either, to keep smelling crap from the fire.”

Johnny nodded. “True. Back soon.”

“If you’ll leave the door open a few inches, I’ll hear if you need help,” Pritchard said.

“’kay. Thanks,” Johnny said. Before his leg injury, he certainly would have protested a supervised shower, but now he knew that a shower was a thousand times better than a sponge bath, so he planned to behave himself. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to give Mike a few minutes of privacy, in case there was anything he didn’t want to say in front of Johnny.

While Johnny was in the shower, Dr. Pritchard zeroed right in on Mike’s current crisis.

“You said on the phone that you’re having some problems with intrusive thoughts.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, nodding, and then stopping that movement when it caused his head to spin again. “More like, intrusive emotions. The thing is—when I came to, Johnny was right there, but we had an audience. I was completely confused—I barely knew who I was, let alone where I was or what had happened. I knew who he was, though—that much made it through my foggy brain. And he had me backboarded, and the only thing I could move was my hands, and I reached for him, and he pulled away, and I … I’m getting stuck on that. The awful, horrible feeling of suddenly questioning whether our whole relationship was real, or just something my addled brains had made up.”

Pritchard nodded. “Go on,” he said.

“It’s like that thing you told me about, where someone will check to make sure the doors are locked, over and over, or that the stove is off, even though they should know they are, because they locked the doors and turned the stove off themselves, just a few minutes ago? Well, Johnny not ten minutes ago reassured me everything was fine, but one minute after that, I was stuck in that thought again, even though I tried to tell myself everything was fine.”

“That sounds very distressing,” Dr. Pritchard said.

“You better believe it,” Mike said, with a hollow laugh.

“Tell me more about how you felt when you came to,” Pritchard said.

“Panicked. I had no idea what had happened. I couldn’t move, and everything was fuzzy, and the world was spinning. I was completely freaked out,” Mike admitted.

“And you’re getting stuck on an emotion you felt while you were in a state of panic. Does this sound familiar?”

Mike blinked a few times. “Yeah.”

“What does it remind you of?” Pritchard asked.

“The original freak-out that brought me to your office, kicking and screaming. When I froze up when I was trying to charge the line that was the same one I was charging just as that building blew up with Johnny still inside it.”

“Exactly,” Pritchard said, remaining completely neutral in tone and expression.

“You know,” Mike said, after a short pause, “you could really be annoying, if you wanted to—if you wanted to be smug about how fast you figure all this stuff out. Somehow, you manage not to annoy me, though, and I’m not quite sure how.”

“Well, I’m glad I don’t annoy you.”

“Aaand here we go again. It’s like everything I think just pops right out my mouth,” Mike said. “Please, please, please, tell me this will go away.”

“Have you had a neurologist in to see you yet, Mike?” Pritchard asked.

“Uh, that’s a brain doctor, right? No. Just the ER docs. Why? Will a neurologist be able to tell me if this will go away?”

“Better than I could,” Pritchard said. “But here’s what I know from reading over your chart. They don’t suspect any kind of permanent injury, and they’re just monitoring you overnight for the unlikely event of a slow bleed. You had a nasty concussion, and it’s to be expected that things won’t be quite the same for a while. But I’ve only ever heard of this kind of loss of verbal inhibition being permanent in people with more severe brain injuries—the kind where you’re in a coma for a while. And it’s only been a few hours—don’t jump the gun on the worrying, okay?”

“I’ll try. It’s pretty hard, in here, with nothing else to think about except that awful feeling, and how sick Johnny is, and how I can’t shut up.”

As if Johnny were listening from the shower, he responded with a barrage of coughs, followed by the inevitable expectoration.

“See what I mean?” Mike said. “And every time he tries to talk me down, he coughs and gags.”

“I understand,” Pritchard said. “That’s one of the worst things about the hospital, from a mental health standpoint. That there’s nothing to do; nowhere for your mind to go except for the worst places for it to be.”

“So … what do I _do_? I mean, it would be easy if Johnny and I could just _talk_ to each other, like normal. But Johnny’s not supposed to talk, and when he does, he coughs and hacks, and one time he coughed so hard he puked. Plus, we never know when someone’s gonna barge right in. So I’ve got the best possible roommate, but I can’t even talk to him. Let alone anything else. Because what would really help is—”

“Is what?”

“Hah! I did it! I was about to say something not completely appropriate, and I stopped myself. So, uh, I guess you can guess what lines I might’ve been thinking along.”

“Ah.” Dr. Pritchard smiled. “Well, in that case—do you think a little trip down fantasy lane might help with the bad feelings you’re having trouble with?”

Mike laughed, and clutched his chest. “Oh, that smarts! No fair!”

Pritchard gave Mike a few seconds to go on, but nothing happened. “Nicely dodged, Mike, but what I asked was if you thought that might help.”

“Um. Probably. But it might cause other embarrassing problems.”

“Nothing anyone around here hasn’t seen before,” Pritchard said.

“Easy for you to say, when it’s some other guy. Besides, I’d feel like I was kind of … using Johnny for my own purposes.”

“What if you asked him if he minded?”

“Um … I guess he’d probably just think it was funny.”

The water stopped running in the bathroom, and was followed by the sound of a series of highly productive coughs, spitting, and some choice words.

“Well, Mike, I really think the key to beating this particular problem is going to be finding something else to focus on. Preferably something that puts your good relationship front and center. And if Johnny is the kind of fellow he sounds like he from your descriptions, I bet he’d be happy to help you out in that particular way.”

Johnny emerged from the bathroom, holding his gown shut in the back. “I’d be happy to help with what, in what particular way? Anything for Mike,” Johnny said to Pritchard. He coughed again, and returned to the minuscule bathroom to spit again. He returned to the room, and Mike immediately pointed to the empty bed.

“Bed. Oxygen. Now,” Mike ordered.

Johnny rolled his eyes and threw a salute to Mike as he got in the bed.

“How many liters?” Pritchard asked. “I’ll turn it back on at the wall.”

“Ten’s more than enough,” Johnny said. “And what’m I helping with?”

Pritchard gestured to Mike.

“You know how I’m stuck, on how I felt when I thought you and I were just in my imagination?”

Johnny nodded.

“I’m supposed to think about positive things about our relationship—things that will get my mind off that feeling. Things that will really keep my attention.” Mike cleared his throat, and blushed.

Johnny glanced at Pritchard. “Uh, Doc, you mind givin’ us a minute?” he asked.

“Sure. I’ll step out to the hall. Mike, you just give a holler when you’re ready for me to come back in,” Pritchard said.

“Thanks,” Johnny said. He waited until the door was closed. “Why dontcha run a porn reel of you and me through your mind?” he suggested. “Boy, that’d take my mind off just about anything. ‘Cause damn.” Johnny coughed again, lifted his mask, and spat into his small basin.

“Um, that’s kind of what I had in mind. But you’re sure it won’t bother you?”

“Course not,” Johnny scoffed, and then coughed and spat. “Heck, that’s how I made it through my last dentist appointment. But then I had to think about that time I had to jump into lake water in the spring, though. Pure snow runoff. So go for it. I wouldn’t mind if you shared, either.” Johnny’s lengthy speech was followed by a lengthy bout of coughing.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘share?’” Mike asked, once the hacking had stopped. “We can’t mess around in here. No way, no how.”

Johnny laughed and coughed. “Just tell me every so often what you’re thinkin’ about. Then I can think about the same thing. Keep my mind off shit, too.”

“It won’t be quite as good as that time I called you from the station, when you were at home, in your favorite flannel pants and t-shirt, and—”

Johnny laughed, and coughed, but just a little bit. “Definitely won’t be that good.”

“But it’s worth a try, to keep my mind occupied.”

Johnny nodded, and gave Mike a thumbs up.

“Can I call Bill back in?”

“Yep. He’s all right, ya know.”

“I know,” Mike said. “Believe me, I know.” He sat up a little, so he could talk more loudly. “All set, Bill!”

Dr. Pritchard re-entered the room and took the seat between the beds again. “Everything all right?”

“Oh yeah,” Mike said. “Gage and I decided it would be fine. Uh, what I should think about.”

“All right. I suspect that will probably help.”

“Bet that’s the first time you ever had to tell a guy to think about sex as a cure for anything,” Johnny said.

“It’s not, actually,” Pritchard said. “But it’s certainly not one of my more frequent prescriptions.” He turned to Mike. “Do you want to give it a try while I’m still here, or would you prefer I head out? Either way is fine with me. You know you can call any time.”

“Uh … to be honest, I think I better just try it on my own,” Mike said. “If I even freak out again.”

“It seems to happen when there’s nothing going on to hold your attention,” Johnny said. Remarkably, he finished the sentence without coughing—just a clearing of the throat at the end.

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Night will be a killer.”

“Wake me up,” Johnny said, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask. “Actually, I won’t be sleeping much anyhow, with all this albuterol they’re pumping me full of. So just say somethin’, if you start to feel edgy. Okay?”

“Okay,” Mike agreed. “And you’re sounding better.”

“Yeah. Shower, albuterol, coughing up a lotta the soot already—doin’ better.”

“Mike,” said Dr. Pritchard, “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes around here, but I’m going to check with the admitting physician, and just make sure they’ve considered a neurology consult.”

“Early,” Mike said.

“Yes, sooner rather than later would be ideal,” Pritchard said, sounding confused. “But—is that what you meant?”

“No, uh, the doctor’s name is Early. From the ER. He’s the one who sent me up here. Smart guy. Real nice, too.”

“Ah. Okay, you had me worried there for a second,” Dr. Pritchard said.

“Actually, I think I’m doing better. I mean, I just named the doctor, and didn’t describe him at length, or tell you any long anecdotes that would be amusing to me and me alone,” Mike said. “Oh, man—you shoulda heard some of the stuff that was coming out of my mouth. It was like … never mind. I’m too fried for analogies.”

“That’s progress, Mikey,” Johnny said. “It was just an hour ago that you got basketball, octopuses and the Wizard of Oz in the same sentence. That’s how I knew you were really concussed.”

“Ha, ha,” Mike said.

“I kind of wish I’d heard that,” Pritchard said. “Just out of … professional curiosity.”

“Wasn’t even my subconscious, so sorry to disappoint you,” Mike said.

“On that note,” Pritchard said, standing up, “I think I should leave the two of you to rest. Mike, please do call if you need to, all right? And we have an appointment next week anyhow, so I’ll see you then at the latest.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Mike said. “I really appreciate it. Sorry to drag you up here for something so stupid.”

Pritchard sighed, and crossed his arms on his chest.

“’s not stupid, Mikey,” Johnny said.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Pritchard said. “You were having a problem you needed help with. You tried all your usual strategies, and you just needed a boost to get past this hurdle.”

“Woulda been stupid _not_ to call,” Johnny added. “Right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have put it exactly that way,” Pritchard replied, “but that’s the gist, I suppose.”

“Yeah, yeah; I know,” Mike said. “Anyhow—thanks for coming in. I’ll see you next week.”

“Take care, both of you,” Pritchard said. “I hope they let you get some rest in here.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said, “and nice to meet you. Finally. Didn’t think _that’d_ ever happen.”

“Likewise, but of course I’m sorry about the circumstances.”

“We’ll be home tomorrow morning,” Johnny said. “No problem. They’ll ship us out as soon—” Johnny interrupted himself with another bout of deep, productive coughing, and once again couldn’t stop.

“Uh oh,” Mike said, moving to get up.

“Stay there, Mike,” Pritchard said, pulling the cord to call the nurse at the same time as he grabbed a pink plastic basin from a bedside table. He pulled the oxygen mask off, and helped Johnny lean over the basin.

“Oh shit oh shit,” Mike said.

There wasn’t much left in Johnny’s stomach, but it was clear to both observers that the retching, interrupted only by coughing, was extremely unpleasant.

When Johnny was done heaving, Dr. Pritchard disappeared into the bathroom with the basin.

“Aw, babe,” Mike said. “Shoot. I made you talk too much. Sorry.”

Johnny shook his head. “Not the talking. Just really nauseous. Probably crap in the smoke.”

“All the same, see if you can rest for a while. I’ll be quiet—I promise. And Dr. Pritchard is on his way out, too.”

Dr. Pritchard returned with a cup of water, and a clean basin.

“You probably want to rinse and spit,” he said.

Johnny nodded wearily, and took the cup and the basin, used them, and returned them to Pritchard’s outstretched hands.

“Thanks,” Johnny said.

“No problem. Could you tell if that was from irritation, or something else?”

“Somethin’ else,” Johnny said.

“He thinks probably something in the smoke,” Mike added, to spare Johnny the words.

“All right. I’ll let the nurse know.”

“Thanks,” Mike said, “from both of us.”

Johnny added a nod and a wave.

“You’re both welcome,” Pritchard said. “Mike, please call if you need to, all right?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“You’re still welcome,” Pritchard said. “I’ll see you next week.”

The door swung itself shut, and the room was silent for a moment.

“Close your eyes, babe,” Mike said. “Here’s what I’m gonna think about, until the next person barges in: our first date.”

Johnny couldn’t really help closing his eyes; the exhaustion was hitting him hard and fast, despite the remaining side-effects of the albuterol. Mike watched, through half-closed eyes he was hoping wouldn’t be too obvious, as Johnny fell asleep. He let his own mind wander, to the exact subject he’d told Johnny would be foremost in his mind, and before he knew it, he dozed off.

**TBC**

  
  



	28. Impatient

**Chapter 28: Impatient**

“Mr. Gage,” a voice said quietly.

Johnny pried one eye open, and wondered briefly where the hell he was, and why he was sleeping sitting up. And why suddenly felt like he was going to throw up.

“Aw, c’mon, Nurse; he _just_ got to sleep!”

Mike’s words and tone reminded Johnny that he was a patient at Rampart, yet again, and that this time, Mike was too. He fought back the nausea, and suppressed the urge to cough, knowing that the wracking of the coughs would probably trigger still more dry heaves, which he just didn’t think he could take. Why his body insisted of trying to rid itself of things that were long gone, or at least weren’t in his digestive tract, was a mystery to him, and Johnny didn’t like mysteries.

Even more, he didn’t like throwing up.

He took careful, shallow breaths of the humidified oxygen flowing through the mask over his mouth and nose.

“Are you still feeling nauseous?” the nurse asked.

Johnny nodded his head minutely, not wanting to trigger anything, and held up seven fingers.

“Seven on a scale of one to ten?” the nurse guessed.

He nodded minutely again.

“All right. The doctor put in a standing order for anti-nausea meds, which will make you sleepy. So let’s get that in, and then you can do your next round of albuterol. Okay?”

Johnny didn’t mind the burn of the needle for the shot of compazine, and tried to breathe slowly and evenly as he waited for the medication to kick in. He could tell it was starting to hit his system when he suddenly felt like he could hardly stay awake, and realized he didn’t feel like he was going to throw up.

He took an experimental deep breath, which rattled through the secretions in his airways, and triggered a bout of coughing. But this time the bout ended on its own, with no further consequences.

“Better?” the nurse asked.

Johnny jumped—he had forgotten she was still there.

“Yeah. Albuterol any time,” he said. “We’ll see what mixing the uppers and the downers will do.”

The nurse chuckled as she set up the albuterol nebulizer. “Here you go,” she said. “You know the routine. Breathe as deeply as possible, and try to keep each breath in for a second. Really work the stuff into your lower airways.”

“Got it. And I know how all this stuff works, so I’ll just disconnect the nebulizer and put the O2 back on high flow when I’m done. I mean, if that’s okay,” Johnny said, as he took the nebulizer and started breathing through it. He risked a look at Mike, who flashed him a quick smile, which, if the nurse had seen it, would have looked like completely appropriate concern for his co-worker and friend.

They’d gotten good at those looks over the last few months.

The nurse watched Johnny for a few seconds, and then turned to Mike.

“And Mr. Stoker—how are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess. The headache is a little better. The bruising on my chest is painful, but the headache kind of trumps that anyhow. The dizziness is pretty much gone, too, and I don’t feel so … off the wall any more.”

The nurse nodded. “Good. Dr. Sheets, a neurologist, will be looking in on you shortly.” She looked back and forth between the two men’s beds. “Either of you need anything before I hit the next room? Dinner will be here soon, if you’re up to it.”

Johnny rolled his eyes, and Mike laughed.

“We’ll see,” Mike said.

“I understand,” the nurse said. “All right. Push the call button if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Mike replied, as Johnny gave a thumbs-up.

The nurse left the room.

“That shot helping?” Mike asked Johnny. “You don’t look so pale and green anymore.”

Johnny nodded. He pointed to Mike and raised his eyebrows.

“Me? I wasn’t fibbing to the nurse. I’m really feeling better. I dozed off for a little while after Dr. Pritchard left, and I think maybe that, I don’t know, reset something. I don’t feel quite so crazy anymore.”

Johnny shot him a thumbs-up sign, and they both laid back in their beds, looking at each other.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna run our porn reel through my head to keep my mind off stuff.”

Johnny grinned around the nebulizer, briefly defeating its purpose, and repeated the thumbs-up, waggling his eyebrows.

There was a tap at the door, which immediately swung open.

“Room service!” a chirpy voice called.

Mike rolled his eyes, just before an extremely young woman entered with a tray.

“Tonight we have meatloaf, peas, rolls, and chocolate pudding,” she announced, setting covered dishes on each of their bedside tables.

“Is it any good?” Mike asked dryly.

“Uh …”

“Sorry—never mind,” Mike said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Actually,” the aide said, “I hear it’s not too awful tonight.”

“I guess it’s hard to wreck meatloaf,” Mike said.

“Oh, I dunno,” Johnny said. “I could probably do it.”

“Good point,” Mike said. “And we know Kelly can. Anyhow, Miss, we’ll do what we can,” Mike said.

She looked back and forth between them.

“You two know each other? Mostly hospital roommates try to ignore each other—the men, I mean.”

“We’re firemen on the same shift,” Mike explained. “Same incident landed us both in here.”

“Ooooh, firemen!” the aide said, eyes widening in appreciation. “Oh, wow! I’ve never met a real fireman in person! So … oh. Uh, sorry. I should go. I’m not actually supposed to chat too much. But have a good night.” She let her eyes linger on Johnny for just a moment longer than was really appropriate, and then left.

Mike clenched his teeth to try to contain the laughter until she was out of earshot, and then let it loose.

“What’s so funny?” Johnny asked, as he changed the oxygen valve on the wall back to a higher flow, and settled back, putting the mask back over his face.

“Just the way she looked at you. Total puppy-dog eyes! What _is_ it with the girls going ga-ga over firemen? I mean, I just don’t get it. It’s dirty, sweaty, filthy work. When we’re really doing our jobs, we look bad, smell bad, and feel bad. When we’re done, we look and smell worse. It’s not glamorous. So why do the girls like it so much?”

Johnny shrugged. “Never seemed to help me, much. Not that I care, now,” he said quickly. “But it’s something about saving babies and puppies and kittens. The whole hero thing.”

Mike shook his head. “I guess,” he said. “I just sort of have this picture of all of us as more like … garbage collectors, image-wise. So I never quite get the hero-worship thing.”

Johnny squinted at Mike. “That’s your ex talking, isn’t it,” he said.

Mike frowned slightly. “Huh. Maybe it is.”

“Uh huh. Trust me on this—the ladies—and any gentlemen who are so inclined—don’t look at us like trash collectors,” Johnny said. “Unlike whatever your ex seemed to think of your career.”

“Um. Yeah. He made me hit the shower as soon as I got home, after every shift, no matter what. No ‘how was your shift,’ no nothing, until I met his standards of aroma and cleanliness. And he’d sleep on the couch if he could even _imagine_ he smelled anything unpleasant.”

“Nice,” Johnny said.

“Well.” Mike cleared his throat. “He did have his good points. But his attitude towards my job was pretty much a deal-breaker, and I should’ve seen that sooner.”

“Monday morning quarterbacking never does much good,” Johnny said. “And speaking of smelling anything unpleasant—we oughta at least try to eat dinner.”

“Yeah,” Mike sighed. “I guess so.”

They both swung their bedside tables over their beds, and ate their dinners.

“I’m actually pretty hungry,” Mike said, halfway through. “I guess I didn’t realize it until the room stopped spinning.”

“I guess I’m not, really,” Johnny said. He managed a few bites, but mostly just pushed things around on his plate. “Think I’m better off with just the oxygen for now.” He put the covers back on the dishes, and pushed the table away.

“Don’t blame you,” Mike said. He ate a little more, and then moved his table aside as well, wincing as his chest muscles reminded him of the insult he’d taken to the sternum earlier.

Johnny looked back over at Mike.

“How’s your head?” he asked, voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

“Like I said, the room’s not spinning, but the headache’s pretty grim,” Mike said.

Johnny shook his head. “Not what I meant, Mikey, and you know it.”

Mike sighed. “Yeah, okay. I think I’m back in reality. I honestly think that short nap I had after Pritchard left really helped. But I’m worried about sleeping. I’m worried about what my head will do when it’s dark, and you’re asleep, and there’s nothing to think about except that bad feeling.”

Johnny shook his head, and coughed. “Trust me, Mikey; with all this crap they’re pumping me full of, I’m not gonna be sleeping much. So seriously: just talk to me if you’re feeling bad, okay? And then tomorrow, they’ll let us go home, and we can just curl up together and sleep it all off. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“I know. That’s the thing—I _know_. I just can’t make that _knowing_ overcome the _feeling_. That’s always been my problem. All along. You’re just seeing it in action for the first time,” Mike said, looking away. “Mike Stoker, crazy fireman.”

“Hey,” Johnny said, shaking his head. “Stop. Okay? I don’t think you’re crazy. Hell, your _shrink_ doesn’t think you’re crazy. And he’d know, right?”

“But you …” Mike trailed off and looked away.

“But I what?” Johnny asked.

Mike sat still for a moment, not looking at Johnny. Johnny waited.

“I don’t like you seeing how weird I can get,” Mike said quietly. “Okay? I just … I don’t like you seeing me so … weak. So not in control of myself.”

Johnny thought for a minute about his next words. He lifted the oxygen mask so Mike could hear him clearly.

“You know, when we first really started to get to know each other—as friends, I mean, before anything else, back when I was here the last time, for the leg—you saw me at my absolute lowest. The weakest I’d been in my whole life. I didn’t like that much, at first, but once I realized you weren’t judging me for it, I just … let it go. And Mikey, I’m not judging you. You’re not weak. And I love you no matter what’s happening in your head. So _trust_ me, okay? Trust that you can let me see whatever’s gonna show, and that it’s okay.” Johnny coughed, just a little bit, and put the oxygen back on.

Mike didn’t say anything for long enough that Johnny almost, but not quite, wanted to ask him if he was okay. But he knew that wouldn’t help.

“Okay,” Mike said. “Like we said back on our first date—let’s just work on trusting each other. We’ve done great with that, I think. A lot more than that, too. And trust is exactly what this is about. And Johnny? I trust you, in every way. With everything and anything. I just have to _remember_ that I do. When I’m feeling like this. So I’ll … I’ll try to remember that.”

“Good.”

They held their eye contact across the room, and Mike suddenly chuckled.

“Hmm?” Johnny asked.

“This is such a ridiculous situation. I just wanna climb into bed with you, but there’s five thousand reasons why we can’t, and—”

A knock on the door, followed swiftly by the entrance of yet another white-coated doctor, cut Mike off.

“Five thousand and one,” Johnny muttered.

“Mr. Stoker?” the doctor said, turning to Mike’s bed.

“That’s me,” Mike said. “You must be the brain guy.”

“Yes. I’m Dr. Sheets, from Neurology. I understand you’ve had a severe concussion, and that you’ve been having some problems with dizziness and lowered inhibitions.”

“If by that you mean the room is spinning and I can’t shut up, then yeah,” Mike said. “But I think it’s all getting better.”

“That’s good. I’d like to just check a few things, if you don’t mind,” Dr. Sheets said.

“Sure,” Mike said. “Like what?”

Dr. Sheets launched into an explanation of each neurological subsystem he was checking, and why. He checked a variety of reflexes, and asked Mike to follow the eraser of a pencil with his eyes, and looked into his retinas just as Dr. Early had. He asked Mike some questions about the world, and had him count backwards from a hundred, by subtracting seven each time.

“A hundred, ninety-three, uh, eighty-six … seventy-eight—no, nine—shoot. This would be easier if I had a pencil. And speaking of pencils, what was the eye thing for again? Where I had to follow the eraser on the pencil without moving my head?”

“Keep going—keep counting backwards—I’ll explain again in a minute.”

“Okay. Uh—can I start over?” Mike asked. “I kind of lost track of where I was.”

“Sure. Start at one hundred.”

“Uh, a hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight—oh, wait. I’m supposed to go by sevens, right? Ninety three … eighty, uh, six …”

Johnny coughed, and Mike’s head turned to look.

“I’m okay. Just keep counting,” Johnny said.

“You sure?” Mike said. “I mean, that didn’t sound good.”

“Never mind,” Dr. Sheets said. “I think that’s enough with the counting.”

“Uh, did I fail that test?”

Dr. Sheets smiled in a way that Mike was sure the doctor must have thought was reassuring, but actually looked condescending.

“It’s not school. But you did show that you’re having trouble focusing—keeping your attention on what you need to be keeping your attention on. Unless that’s something you normally have difficulty with,” the doctor said.

“No way, Doc,” Johnny said. “He’s a really focused guy. His job requires constant attention to multiple things at the same time.”

“Rotating attention, really,” Mike said. “I mean, you can’t look at six gauges at once, and pay attention to the big picture of the scene, and listen to radio traffic, and watch out for vehicles, and—” Mike cleared his throat. “Uh, I guess I’m still talking too much.”

“Better than an hour ago, though,” Johnny said. “And you’re catching yourself.”

“That sounds like progress,” Dr. Sheets said. “Let me ask you one more thing. What do you remember from before you got knocked out?”

Mike shook his head. “I think I lost, what, Johnny? About an hour?”

“Forty-five minutes or so,” Johnny said. “But tell the Doc, okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. Uh, before we got toned out to the fire, me and Johnny were playing basketball with two other guys from our shift. And man, we were taking them down, too. And Kelly—he’s a guy on our shift—not too bad at basketball considering how short he is—he was fouling me like crazy. But there’s no referee, see, and you don’t wanna make too much of an issue of it amongst friends, but really, it was over the top. And then? Bam! Only I don’t remember the actual ‘bam’ part. Then I was looking up at that guy over there, and I couldn’t move, and I totally freaked out,” Mike said.

The doctor frowned. “All right. Why couldn’t you move?”

“Oh—Gage had me strapped down to the backboard. I just didn’t know that, ‘cause I was kind of out of it.”

“He had intact pulse, motor, and sensation times four,” Johnny added.

“You were the paramedic at the scene?”

“Yup,” Johnny said.

“All right,” the doctor said. “Mr. Stoker, is there anything else going on that you think is relevant to how your brain is functioning? Anything that’s different from normal?”

Mike slouched in his bed, as if by making himself smaller he could avoid the question.

“Tell him, Mikey. Just sum it up,” Johnny suggested.

“Uh, okay. See, sometimes I get kind of anxious—you know, getting stuck on thinking about things I don’t even want to think about? That’s worse now than it’s been for a while,” Mike said.

“I see that in Dr. Pritchard’s note in your chart from a little while ago,” Dr. Sheets said.

Mike flicked his eyes to the doctor, and then to Johnny, and back again. “So … what does this all mean?”

“I think all the difficulties you’re having right now are related to trouble focusing. That’s a very common problem after a concussion. And your next question is going to be whether it will go away, and the best answer I have for that is almost certainly, but I can’t tell you how fast. The fact that you’re doing better now than a couple hours ago is a good sign, and that’s really all I can say for now.”

“Oh,” Mike said. “So it’s all the same thing?”

“I think so. The front lobes of your brain are in charge of those functions, so it’s likely that the front of your brain bounced off your skull. But there’s no sign at all of increased pressure in your brain, which means nothing is swelling up in there.”

“So what do I do?” Mike asked.

“You’re going to hate this answer, which is that you need to wait.”

“Figures,” Mike grumbled. “Nothing I can do about this, right? Just wait. Sheesh. You’re right—I hate that answer. If something’s broken, I wanna _fix_ it—not wait around to see if it gets better all on its own.”

“Well, that’s like trying to get a seed to sprout faster. All you can do is plant it, water it, and wait. If you dig it up to check on it, you’ll just make it worse,” Dr. Sheets said. “So I’d recommend that when you get home, try to be as mindless as possible. Rest as much as you can for the next few days, and then I want you to come back to see me, and I’ll check to see how your cognitive function is then.”

Mike nodded. “Okay. I guess it would be pretty stupid for me to rush in to going back to work. I mean, I could kill people if I screw up.”

“Exactly. Your job requires sustained focus, so I’m taking you off work until it looks like that’s where it should be again.”

Mike sighed. “Yeah. All right. It makes sense. I don’t like it, but I don’t wanna put anyone at risk.”

“Good. So, unless anything changes, you’ll be discharged home in the morning. Do you have someone you can stay with?”

Mike nodded. “That’s all taken care of.”

“All right. I’ll put a note in your chart that you need to see me on Monday. You shouldn’t drive until I’ve seen you again, either.”

“No problem,” Mike said, flicking his eyes over to Johnny. “I’ll get someone to drive me.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning, before we spring you from this joint. And I’d love to say get some rest, but unfortunately, someone will be checking on you every two hours to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I know. I probably won’t sleep well anyhow, so it’s no big deal. Plus, I’m used to not sleeping all night on shift.”

“Okay,” Dr. Sheets said, nodding. “See you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Mike said. He let out a deep breath as the doctor left the room, and looked over at Johnny.

“That what you were expecting?” Mike asked.

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. It makes sense, you know, that it’s all part of the same thing. And it makes sense for you to stay home a couple shifts.”

“You too, probably. I mean, you could be right back in a smoky building your next shift on the job.”

“Right. I sure wanna get out of _here_ , though,” Johnny said.

“Then let’s try to rest,” Mike suggested. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get fifteen minutes before someone barges in.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “I’m pretty tired, actually.”

Their rest lasted ten miraculous minutes, before there was a tap on the door and Roy popped in.

“Hey, partner! Back here already?” Johnny said.

“Yep—they got a sub for you right away, and Mike, your sub is on the way, apparently. Just brought in a lady with a sprained ankle, so I thought I’d pop in and check on you two.”

“I think we’re doin’ a little better, right, Mikey?” Johnny said.

Mike nodded in agreement. “I’m not dizzy anymore, and I think I’m shutting up a little, and they gave Johnny something for the nausea, so yeah—not too bad.”

“Good,” Roy said. “I also wanted to say that Joanne and I would be happy to have either or both of you until you get back on your feet. Or we could pick you up, if they spring you in the morning, and take you home.”

“Thanks, Roy,” Johnny said. “Mike’s supposed to get out in the morning, and man, I sure hope I do too. I bet I will.”

Roy lifted the lid over the plate that was still on Johnny’s table. “You’d be a little more convincing if you’d eaten any of your supper.”

Johnny shook his head. “Couldn’t do it. Some crap in the smoke is making me nauseous. But they gave me a shot, and it’s better now. Maybe I tried to eat too soon after the shot.”

“So try again. It’s cold, but that won’t kill you.”

“You’re too sensible for your own good, Roy,” Johnny said, but he pulled the table across his lap again and looked at the food, and sighed. “But okay.”

“I’m not supposed to drive,” Mike said, “so could you maybe just drop us both at the station, and then Johnny can get us to his place?” Then he frowned. “No, that won’t work, because then my truck will still be there, and what’ll people think of _that_? Shoot. What if you … no, that won’t work either. It’s like that brain-teaser, with the goats and the cannibals and the cabbages, and you have one boat to get everyone across the river, and—”

“Okay, Mike. How about this,” Roy said. “I’ll take your truck from the station, and pick you and Johnny up in that, and take you both to his place. Joanne can pick me up from there. Nobody’ll think twice about the Rover being in the parking lot; they’ll just think Johnny’s with us. Does that work okay for you guys?”

Johnny and Mike looked at each other.

“Yeah, I think that works fine,” Johnny said.

“But what if—” Mike started.

“What if what?” Johnny asked.

“What if people call me, and I’m not home? What will they think?”

Johnny blew out a breath, and coughed when he got to the end of the breath. “Look. Why don’t we just say that you’re not allowed to drive, so you’ll crash on my couch until you can drive again? Nobody’ll question that.”

“Except to offer you a different place, to be honest,” Roy said.

“Well … I guess that’d be okay,” Mike said slowly. “I mean, we’ll both be just resting most of the time, so it’s not like people wouldn’t buy it if I just said it’d be easier that way. We can look after each other, and not bother anyone else.”

“Right. No problem,” Johnny said. “Good plan.”

“Good,” Roy said. “I’ll spread it around, and I’ll show up tomorrow morning after shift with your truck, Mike. Are your keys in your locker?”

“Yeah. Cap can let you in with the master key. I’ll call him to tell him that, if he needs me to.”

“Might not be a bad idea to call him in any case—he’s pretty worried about both of you,” Roy said.

“Okay. I’ll call him now,” Mike said.

“I’ve gotta be going. It’s good to see the two of you more like yourselves. Get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, pal,” Johnny said.

Mike picked up the phone, and dialed the station’s number.

“ _L.A. County Fire Department, Station 51, Captain Stanley speaking.”_

“Hey, Cap. It’s Stoker.”

“ _Mike! How are you? Lemme tell you, pal, I was plenty worried about you when Johnny shipped you off to Rampart._ ”

“Not too bad. Nothing’s broken, and I’m not dizzy anymore. My brain’s pretty shook up, though. I can’t pay attention to anything for more than a second or two. I’m pulled from work until the neurologist says I’m back to normal.”

“ _I’d say so! Can’t have an engineer with a mind like a sieve. Any word on Gage?_ ”

“Yeah—he’s my roommate, actually. He was coughing and gagging and puking for a while, but that all seems to have settled down. He’s still supposed to stay quiet, or I’d put him on. We’re both supposed to go home tomorrow morning. I’m not supposed to drive,” Mike said, “so he said I could crash at his place.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Cap said, and Mike could imagine the frowning of his bushy eyebrows. “Y _ou sure about that? I mean, I’ve seen his couch._ ”

“It’s fine, Cap. We can look out for each other, and not bother anyone else. Honest.”

“ _All right, if you’re sure. But if you change your mind, we’ve got the spare room, and my wife could come get you_.”

“Thanks, Cap. Oh—and Roy’s gonna pick us up. Can you let him into my locker to get my keys? He’s gonna bring my truck over.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Cap said. “ _And say hi to Gage from the whole gang, all right?_ ”

“Sure thing, Cap.”

They ended their conversation, and Mike put the phone back on the table between the beds.

“The gang says hi,” Mike said.

“Hi,” Johnny said. He was still picking away at the remains of his dinner. “You’re not gettin’ worked up about the plan for tomorrow, are you?”

Mike shook his head. “Nope. I don’t think anyone will think twice, except for what Cap said.”

“Which was?”

“That he’s seen your couch.”

Johnny laughed. “Well, that’s not gonna be a problem, but they don’t have to know that.”

“Nope. Can’t wait to get out of here, babe.”

“Me neither. C’mon—let’s try to rest up a bit more before they drug me again and wake you up to find out if you still know who you are.”

Mike and Johnny gave each other one last look before they each closed their eyes. Mike decided not to chance letting his mind fall into other traps, and went straight back to thinking about his and Johnny’s first date. His brain bounced around a bit—from them practically ripping each other’s clothes off, to them both sitting at the dining room table the next day with needles and thread, sewing buttons back on shirts, and laughing about it, and back to their first time in bed, and on to the next day, when things were a little less frantic. But that thought-hopping was okay, Mike decided, since it was all about the same topic, and all designed to keep his mind from going where he didn’t want it to go.

He also realized that he’d never get to sleep by thinking about extremely hot sex. But that was okay. It was only seven o’clock. He didn’t really feel the need to sleep, but more to just have his brain settle down a little. He let his mind drift to a lazy day a month or so ago, a few shifts after Johnny returned to work, when they’d spent nearly the entire day in bed. They hadn’t meant to—there was laundry to be done, groceries to be bought, and other mundane household tasks to be accomplished—but it had just sort of happened. At four p.m., they’d finally left Mike’s house to go to Johnny’s, so they’d be closer to the station in the morning, but aside from making an early dinner, they lounged around together the entire time.

Mike opened his eyes and looked over at Johnny. He was breathing evenly, but Mike could still hear the rattling of secretions in his airway, and every so often he stirred and coughed. But less often, Mike thought, than the first time he’d dozed off.

He watched Johnny sleep for a little while. He was so different when he was asleep—the constant movement abated, the need to keep an eye on everything all at once gone. Mike watched the expansion of Johnny’s chest through the sheet and gown. His mind suddenly jumped, all on its own, to a new, dark place.

What if that chest weren’t still expanding, pulling in air, encasing and protecting the heart beating inside it? What if the rescue had gone truly badly, with a ceiling or floor collapsing, or a room flashing over with Johnny, Roy, and their victim still inside? What if there were another gas-main leak, with another explosion, and this time Johnny didn’t make it out with ‘just’ a severe compound fracture? What if, what if, what if?

Mike covered his face with his hands and groaned as he felt his heart speed up again. His mind flashed from one worst-case-scenario to another, coming up with things he’d seen, and then imagining things he’d heard of but never seen in person, and finally plunging into the pit of despair in which he was able to think up new and original catastrophes. He tried to stop; tried to think about different things, but he was stuck—again. Just stuck in a different hell than the last mental trap he’d fallen into.

Even in the pit, though, he could hear an echo of Johnny’s voice, from just a little while ago. “ _Just talk to me if you’re feeling bad_.”

He remembered that he trusted Johnny. He knew that. So he decided that he trusted that Johnny meant those words.

Hands still over his face, he summoned up his voice, not caring how it sounded.

“Johnny?”

In the next bed, Johnny stirred and coughed. “Huh?”

“I’m stuck, babe. I can’t stop!” Mike said.

“Everything’s all right, Mikey,” Johnny said instantly. “I love you. We’re good.”

Mike shook his head. “No, no, no! I _know_ that! But … what if that rescue had gone bad? Or what if there’s another exploding building, but this time you don’t get out? Or what if … babe, there’s ten million ways you could get killed, and I think I’ve come up with just about all of them.”

Johnny could see the depth of Mike’s despair, but couldn’t argue that none of the scenarios he’d come up with would ever happen.

“Mikey … put your hands down. Put your hands down, and look at me, okay?”

It took many long seconds, but Mike was able to pry his hands off his face and look Johnny in the eye.

“I’m not gonna lie to you. It could happen. It could happen to me; it could happen to you. But it probably won’t. Seriously, Mikey, your brain is addled right now, all right? Remember what the doc said—you can’t keep your attention where it needs to be. So let’s get that attention off the nightmares, and onto something else, okay?”

Mike forced his neck muscles into a nod.

“Watch me breathing, babe. Slow your breathing down to match mine.” Johnny forced himself to suppress his cough reflex for twenty long, deep breaths, until Mike’s breathing was level and even again. He coughed just enough to be able to keep breathing slowly and evenly, and continued.

“Remember when we were at Sequoia, and it was Wednesday night, and the only other tent in the campground was way on the other side? And we practically had the whole place to ourselves?”

“Yeah …”

“It was a new moon, remember? And it was overcast, so it was so dark you could hardly see your hand in front of your face. And we laid a blanket on the ground, out in the forest, away from the tent, where nobody would see us?”

“Uh huh …”

“Think about that, Mikey. I’ll think about it too—making love out under those huge trees, in the open air. I’ll think about how your hands felt on me, and how your body felt under my hands, and everything. You think about that time, okay?”

“Okay,” Mike said, and he almost couldn’t help it, Johnny was so convincing, so hypnotizing. He thought about that night, which had turned into a memorable sensual experience, since it was so dark, and since they were out in the air. At first, he’d worried—of course—about getting caught, but someone would have to be looking for them, and to do that, they would’ve needed a flashlight. And except for at certain key moments, either he or Johnny certainly would’ve noticed approaching flashlight beams.

He heard Johnny coughing and spitting, and briefly got pulled back into the real world, but was able to get himself back to that night by thinking about how pleasant it was. He thought about how even though he was usually not at all quiet when he and Johnny got busy, he naturally toned down in the hush of the outdoors.

Mike didn’t actually fall asleep, but fell into a relaxed state, physically and mentally. His head and chest still hurt, but it didn’t bother him. His mind flitted here and there, but he could call it back to where he wanted to. He had no sense of time passing, and no sense of anything happening around him.

_Rampart, Room 319, 2108_

Johnny was sound asleep when a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

“Mr. Gage?”

Johnny’s immediate heavy coughing reminded him where he was, and why. He forced his eyes open, and saw an unfamiliar nurse. “Yep.”

“It’s time for another dose of albuterol, and some more compazine if you need it.”

Johnny sat up straighter, and glanced over at Mike, who was sitting quietly, with his eyes half open. _Huh_ , Johnny thought.

“Yeah, probably wouldn’t hurt,” Johnny said, as his stomach did a flip-flop.

The nurse gave him the shot, and set up his albuterol, and then turned to the other side of the room.

“Mr. Stoker?” she said quietly.

“Mm hm?” Mike replied, opening his eyes slightly. “Oh—yeah.” He sat up higher, and looked over at Johnny, who gave him a quick thumbs-up.

“I need to ask you some questions, just to check on how you’re doing. They’ll sound silly, but just bear with me.”

“Sure.”

“Can you tell me your full name?”

“Michael Stoker, no middle name. I’m at Rampart, because I got a concussion when a supply line blew off the truck, but I don’t remember that happening. And I don’t know exactly what time it is, but it’s dark, and someone was supposed to check on me every two hours or so, so I’ll guess around nine,” Mike said.

“I guess you’ve heard these questions before. But not bad,” the nurse said. “In fact, excellent. Do you need anything? I can bring it when I come back to finish your roommate’s treatment in a couple of minutes.”

“Uh, is it okay if I get up to use the bathroom?” Mike asked, disliking the feeling of asking permission.

“Sure. Have you been up yet, since you came up here?”

“Uh uh. I was really dizzy for a while, but that’s gone now. I think it’ll be fine.”

“All the same,” the nurse said, “I’ll just make sure you get up all right. There’s a pull-cord in the bathroom if you’re feeling unsteady.”

“Okay,” Mike said, relieved that he’d be allowed to just go by himself. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, and stood up slowly, holding the bed with one hand, and the back of his gown with the other. “Man, I hate this gown,” he said.

“They’re mighty drafty, aren’t they,” the nurse said. “I’ll leave you to your business.” She turned back to Johnny. “And I’ll be back when that’s done.”

Johnny nodded, and the nurse whisked out of the room.

Mike had to pass by Johnny’s bed on the way to the bathroom. Since the curtain was pulled to block the view from the door of the room, Mike leaned down and kissed Johnny on the forehead. Johnny took Mike’s hand and held it to his cheek as he inhaled and exhaled through the tubing of the nebulizer.

“You look better,” Mike said.

Johnny nodded.

“And I really, really have to take a piss,” Mike said.

Johnny squeezed his hand, and let it go. Mike went into the bathroom, and relieved himself at length. He washed up, and splashed some water on his face. He inspected himself in the mirror over the sink, and decided he looked like himself. He lifted up the gown to get a good look at the bruise on his chest, and whistled.

“Holy crap,” he said to himself, out loud. “That’s pretty spectacular.”

He pulled a plastic cup from a dispenser, and filled it with tapwater, and drank it, and did it again. He tossed the cup in the trash, and filled a new one for Johnny.

When he got back out into the room, Johnny was done with his treatment. He handed the cup to Johnny.

“Thanks,” Johnny said. “This stuff makes your mouth taste like metal,” he said, chugging down the water. Mike refilled the cup, and brought it back, and Johnny drank again.

“Better?” Mike said.

“Yeah.”

“How ‘bout if I see for myself,” Mike said. He leaned down, and, with a hand on Johnny’s cheek, kissed him gently.

After a moment, he pulled back. “I see what you mean,” he said, smiling down at Johnny.

They both jumped as the door opened and the nurse came back in.

“I, uh, I was just getting him a cup of water on my way back from the bathroom,” Mike said quickly.

“Oh—I can get you a pitcher of ice water if you’d like, Mr. Gage. In fact, your orders say you should drink as much as you can, to help flush out any toxins from the smoke you inhaled, so I’ll be back with that. Would you like a pitcher of cold water as well, Mr. Stoker?”

“Yes please, and thanks,” Mike said, holding his gown shut in the back as he went back to his bed.

Mike got back in his bed, and looked across the room at Johnny. They both burst out laughing, at the same time.

“Man, I can’t wait to get outta here,” Johnny said.

**TBC**

  
  


  
  



	29. Outpatient

**Chapter 29: Outpatient**

The night was endless—and not in the good kind of way. The nurse woke Mike every two hours to check his neurological status, which was always fine. Johnny had albuterol treatments every two hours as well. And of course, the two-hour recurring tasks didn’t line up, so every hour—at least—Johnny and Mike were disturbed.

At 0730, a tech that they hadn’t seen before came in with a cart with a cumbersome-looking machine on it, parking it on Johnny’s side of the room.

“Uh oh,” Johnny said. “That looks unpleasant.”

The tech laughed. “I have a feeling you won’t mind, actually. It’s a new gadget that measures the blood’s oxygen saturation non-invasively. When you came in, they probably drew blood from an artery to measure it. But this gadget just has a probe that sits on your ear, and gives nearly instant results.”

Johnny perked up. “That’s pretty cool. Maybe someday they’ll have it small enough we can use it in the field. That could be really useful, to get O2 sats like that.”

The tech tilted his head. “What kind of work do you do?”

“Firefighter/paramedic. There’s only four things we can get quantitatively now—pulse, respirations, BP, and temperature. But sats—that would be great. And imagine if we could see if someone is actually metabolizing oxygen to carbon dioxide! That would be terrific.” He cleared his throat. “Anyhow. What do I need to do?”

The tech fiddled with something that had a wire on one end, and a clamp on the other. “I’ll just put this on your ear, like so,” he said, adjusting the probe, “and in a couple of seconds, we’ll have a reading. You’ve been on O2 all night?”

“Yep—four liters.” 

The machine beeped.

“Ninety-nine,” the tech said. 

“Well, all right! Does that mean I get to go home?”

The tech laughed. “Not up to me, man. They’ll probably take you off the oxygen for a while, and then have me check your sats again. That’s what usually happens. So I’ll probably see you later,” he said.

“Cool. See if you can work on miniaturizing that thing in the meantime,” Johnny said. He coughed, but it sounded nothing like it had the previous night. It just sounded like a regular junky cough—perhaps the remnants of a virus.

“You sound an awful lot better, babe,” Mike said, as he stopped pretending to be asleep.

“Yeah—I feel a lot better, too. Still not great, but a lot better. I didn’t need the antinausea stuff anymore, and I noticed they didn’t give me any albuterol at 0400 when they were checking on you. You sound better, too. Calmer. More like yourself.”

“Uh huh—I’m not gonna lie; it was an awful night. Every fucking time they woke me up, I ended up having to talk myself down again. But I could do it on my own—I didn’t completely freak out; not since the time where you sent us to Sequoia. And it doesn’t feel like my mind is so jumpy anymore.”

“Good,” Johnny said. 

A nurse came in, and took each of their vitals. “Mr. Gage, we’re going to try you on room air for an hour or two, and then see how the levels of oxygen are in your blood.”

“Okay. That was a pretty cool gizmo. I appreciated not having an artery punctured.”

“And I appreciated not having to puncture one,” the nurse said, smiling. “Both your doctors should be in to see you soon.”

“They better let us outta this joint,” Mike said. “Cause I gotta get some rest.”

“I understand,” the nurse said. “Well—breakfast will be in any time.”

Mike and Johnny dozed for a while, until Dr. Sheets, the neurologist, came in just before eight.

“Oh, hi, Doctor,” Mike said. 

“How are you this morning, Mr. Stoker?”

“Better, I think. I don’t feel as scattered. Still have a heck of a headache, though. But I bet I can count backwards, now.”

“All right—give it a try. This time, count back from a hundred by sixes, not sevens.”

“Uh … okay,” Mike said, glancing over at Johnny.

“You were _practicing_ , weren’t you, Stoker?” Johnny said. 

“Maybe,” Mike said warily.

“That’s totally cheating, I bet,” Johnny said gleefully, earning himself a glare from Mike.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dr. Sheets said. “Just go ahead, backwards by sixes.”

“Backwards by sixes. Fine. Here I go. A hundred, ninety-four, eighty-eight, eighty-two, uh, seventy-six, seventy, fifty-four, forty-eight, forty-two, thirty-six … you want me to keep going?”

“No, that’s fine. Except for skipping from seventy to fifty-four, that was fine. And you didn’t go off on any tangents this time.”

“Right. But, uh, to be honest, I really had to concentrate on that. But I could do it. I mean, except for losing ten somewhere. Which isn’t good, if you’re working the pumps,” Mike said, rubbing his forehead.

“Give yourself time,” the doctor said. “Let me just check your reflexes, and your retinas, and if everything still looks good, I’ll discharge you this morning.”

“Great!” Mike said.

Dr. Sheets performed his exam, and declared it clean.

“I still want to see you in my office on Monday morning,” he said. “And no work until I’ve cleared you. Do you need a note?”

Mike nodded. “Can you send it to Captain Stanley at my station?”

“Sure. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Thanks, see you then.”

As soon as the door was closed, Mike blew out a long breath. “That’s a relief. One down, one to go. And I bet they let you out, too. You just sound like you’ve had a cold, or something. Without the stuffy nose.”

“Weeeell, like I said, I’m feelin’ a lot better, but still pretty crappy, to be honest. I don’t know what kind of crap I breathed in, but it sure as heck wasn’t healthy. I mean, we’ve all eaten a little smoke before. Me probably as much as any of us guys. But I never felt it anywhere other than the breathing, until this time.”

“Current wisdom is, there’s a lot more poison in smoke from structure fires in the 70’s than there was thirty years ago. Mostly because everything’s plastic and synthetic these days,” Mike said.

“Yeah, actually, we were just talking about that at our last paramedic meeting. Apparently quite a few old-school firemen—you know, like that sub captain we had once?—have been brought in recently with pretty serious smoke inhalation, from not wearing their SCBAs when they should’ve.”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “Unlike, say, my boyfriend?”

“Now hold on a second; that’s different! I was sharing with our victim, not being some kinda hotshot!” Johnny said, coughing as if to punctuate his indignation.

“Well, all I’m saying is, that procedure is probably gonna come under scrutiny any day now. I’m not saying you made a poor choice. You probably saved the guy. But I bet it’s not gonna be allowed, any time now,” Mike said. “It’s not a criticism. Just an observation.”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah, I know. Sorry I blew my stack.”

“You didn’t blow your stack. I’m sorry I poked at you like that.”

“Maybe it was necessary,” Johnny said. “I mean, you don’t see Roy in here with us, do you?”

“No,” Mike said slowly. “No, I don’t.”

“So, maybe I could, I dunno, try to be more careful.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Mike said quietly.

They sat quietly for a moment, neither one knowing quite where to go with the exchange.

“It’s hard for you, isn’t it,” Johnny said, finally.

Mike didn’t have to ask what he meant. “It is. I stay outside, by the truck, all nice and safe—well, usually. But yesterday was a freak thing. But you? You don’t. And yeah, it’s hard to watch you going into crazy dangerous situations, shift after shift.”

“We’ve never really talked about this before,” Johnny said. “You mentioned it, I think, once when you visited me here when I was in for the leg, but we haven’t talked about it since we got together.”

“We should. But not now,” Mike said.

“Soon, though.”

“Soon.”

The long silence was … long. And silent. 

“We’ll work it out,” Mike said, finally.

“Of course we will,” Johnny said. “No matter what.”

The next silence, a more comfortable one, was interrupted by the arrival of breakfast.

“Breakfast’s harder to wreck,” Johnny said, as the aide departed.

Mike lifted the cover off his plate, looking skeptically at the food. “Really? I can’t even tell what this is.”

Johnny lifted his lid as well. “Ah. French toast. I stand corrected. This is one of their worst.”

“It looks like … casserole,” Mike said, wrinkling his nose.

“I think they make it in baking pans, to save time, ya know?”

“I guess so,” Mike said, poking at the rectangle on his plate with a fork. “Well, at least this is probably our last meal here.”

“Better be,” Johnny grumbled. “’Cause I’m starved, and this sucks. Rather just have cereal.”

“That’s good, because last I checked, that’s about all there is at your place.”

Dr. Echols showed up just as Johnny was finishing his breakfast. He listened carefully to ten or twelve different places on Johnny’s back and chest, and looked satisfied.

“Well, Mr. Gage, it sounds like everything has cleared out. So if your sats are 95 or above on room air, you can go home this morning.”

“Terrific! I was wondering, though—and I know you probably can’t tell me about the patient we brought in from the same fire—but what do you think was in the smoke, that made me feel so damned sick?”

The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know. It could’ve been any number of toxic byproducts of combustion. And as for the other fellow, it’s still touch and go. We did a bronchoscopy to clear him out, but the systemic effects are still quite evident.”

“Oh. Well. Anyhow. I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for that ninety-five. And cool machine, by the way.”

“I agree. We can track sats continuously, nearly instantly, if we need to. In any case. Assuming your sats are good, I’ll send you home, but I don’t want you anywhere near any smoke for two weeks.”

Johnny’s jaw dropped in dismay. “Two—aw, why so long?”

“Do you know the phrase ‘synergistic effects?’”

“Uh …” Johnny searched his mind. “You mean like drug interactions, where the total effect is more than the sum of the two?”

“Exactly,” Dr. Echols said. “Another smoke exposure, even minor, before you’re totally recovered, could be very serious. I’ll want to see you in my office in ten days, and then if everything looks good, you can return to work a few days after that. All right?”

“But—”

“Johnny,” Mike said.

Johnny sighed. “Yeah. All right. Sorry if I overreacted; it seems like I just got back to work after the last time.”

The doctor paused, frowning. “‘The last time?’ Were you out recently with smoke inhalation? That’s not in your chart.”

“Oh—no,” Johnny said, and he explained. 

“Well,” Dr. Echols said, after Johnny’s explanation (which, in Mike’s mind, downplayed the injury substantially), “you don’t have to worry about a lengthy absence from this incident. I just want to make sure you’re not going to be put at risk of a minor exposure causing major and lasting effects.”

“Yeah, I understand. It makes perfect sense,” Johnny said. “I won’t argue.”

“At least, he won’t argue any _more_ ,” Mike said.

“You shush, Stoker,” Johnny mock-scolded.

Dr. Echols, being the consummate professional he was, didn’t even raise an eyebrow, but left the room wishing he could be a fly on the wall when they were alone, so he could figure out whether what he _thought_ was going on was _actually_ going on in this unusual room.

~!~!~!~

_1017, Main entrance, patient pick-up area_

“This is absurd,” Mike grumbled, as he and Johnny sat in wheelchairs, waiting for Joanne to pull the car around to pick them up.

“Not gonna argue with you there,” Johnny said. “But just think—in fifteen minutes, we’ll be home.”

“There she is,” Roy said, as Joanne’s sedan pulled around the corner. Roy had dropped Mike’s truck at Johnny’s place earlier, and Joanne had returned to pick him up and then take Johnny and Mike home.

“All aboard!” Joanne called.

Mike nearly fell out of the wheelchair in his haste to leave it, and he and Johnny folded themselves into the back seat, which was better designed for two children than two men over six feet tall. They quietly held hands on the way back, not really wanting to make any kind of display even in front of Roy and Joanne, but not being able to stand being apart any longer.

At Johnny’s apartment complex, Roy insisted on following them up the stairs to Johnny’s door.

“Thanks again, partner,” Johnny said. “Now go home and get some rest.”

“You’re welcome. Call us if you need anything,” Roy said. 

“We will,” Mike assured him.

Johnny let them into the apartment, and shut the door behind them. No sooner had he turned the deadbolt than they fell into each other’s arms. They stood there for a long time, just holding and kissing each other.

“Come on,” Mike said. “I’m beat. Let’s hit the sack, all right?”

“Not gonna argue with you there, either,” Johnny said.

In the bedroom, they helped each other undress, even though, strictly speaking, neither of them needed help. They tangled themselves together, murmuring sweet nothings all the while.

To both of their dismay, Mike burst into tears when Johnny turned away for a moment to cough.

“Fuck!” Mike swore shakily, sitting up and swiping tissues out of the box on the nightstand. “Just—fuck! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

“It’s all right,” Johnny said softly, sitting up behind him and wrapping his arms around Mike’s body, careful to avoid the badly bruised area on his chest. “It’s okay.”

“I’m just not in control of myself! Jesus, I _hate_ this!”

“Shh,” Johnny whispered. “I gotcha. You need to rest, all right? I gotcha. We’re fine. Let’s just lay down, and hold onto each other, like we wanted to all night, and sleep.”

Mike calmed his breathing, and the tears stopped. He inhaled and exhaled deeply and slowly, one more time, wiped his face again, and tossed a wad of tissues into the wastebasket. 

“I can’t stop this shit,” Mike said, “and I _hate_ it. I hate not being in control of myself.”

“You don’t hafta be. Not with me,” Johnny said, gently pulling him back down again. “Let’s rest, and I bet in five or six hours, everything’s gonna seem a little better. In fact, things seem a lot better now than they did an hour ago, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Mike admitted, forcing himself to relax into Johnny’s light hold on him. He let Johnny pull him down, and let his head be cradled on Johnny’s chest, and surrendered to the crushing fatigue.

~!~!~!~

Johnny didn’t fall asleep right away. He stroked Mike’s mousy brown hair, and forced himself to stay awake long enough to make sure Mike was really out. He thought about the topic he and Mike had just barely grazed earlier that morning—about how hard it was for Mike to watch while Johnny went into dangerous situations. About how they’d promised each other that they’d work it out. And for the first time since they’d gotten together, Johnny felt the cold, niggling fingers of doubt working their way between himself and Mike. 

He held on tighter, not wanting to let go, and pushed those icy fingers away, as hard as he could. But their chill remained, and as hard as he tried, he didn’t feel entirely warm, until finally he fell asleep, lulled by Mike’s deep breathing and the promise that, no matter what, they’d work it out.

The only problem was, he didn’t have a clue how they were going to do that.

**TBC**

  
  



	30. Possession

**Chapter 30: Possession**

  
  


Mike woke from a heavy sleep, wondering why he had such a headache. He didn’t think he’d been drinking, and it didn’t feel quite like a hangover anyhow. He untangled himself from Johnny’s clutches, which for some reason felt clutchier than usual. As his bruised chest muscles twinged, yesterday’s events, or what he could remember of them, cascaded into the front of his mind.

He sat on the side of the bed, and thought about the previous day’s disasters, and his verbal diarrhea and emotional roller-coaster ride that he hoped were over. As always, everything looked better after some sleep. Mike didn’t really care what time it was, because they both just plain needed to sleep until they woke up, so he quietly got out of the bed, trying not to disturb Johnny. 

As he moved away, he took a look at his sleeping lover. Johnny’s breathing was still slightly noisy, but didn’t sound ragged and congested as it had during the night at the hospital. His skin had regained its normal color, no longer cast with a gray and unhealthy pallor as it had been when they first got to Rampart. Mike briefly started thinking about the ‘what ifs’ again, but this time, his civilized, rational brain triumphed over the survival-oriented, worst-case-scenario caveman brain, and he was able to stop that one thought from turning into an inescapable whirlpool of doom.

Johnny coughed and rolled over, but didn’t wake up. Mike took a quick inventory of himself, and realized that the first three things that needed to be addressed were the headache, the bladder, and the stench, in that order. He padded out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, where he opened the medicine cabinet and helped himself to two extra-strength Tylenol, and washed them down with a cup of water. He started the shower running while he used the toilet, and was delighted to step under the hot spray from the shower nozzle and start to wash away the grime and anxiety of the previous day’s mishaps. 

He made short work of the shower, and went into the kitchen with a towel around his waist to scope out the food situation, which he was sure was dire. 

There was nothing but cereal and milk, and he was famished, so that would do fine. He sniffed the milk, and then laughed at himself, because of course a gallon of milk didn’t last long in this household. Mike read a magazine that was lying on the table while he ate his cereal, then cleaned up, and decided to return to the bedroom. 

He didn’t need to sleep any more, but he did need to be close to Johnny. He brought a paperback he kept stashed at Johnny’s, and snagged a large cushion from the couch, and set himself up in the bed, sitting up against the wall with the cushion at his back. He got back up again, and exchanged the damp towel for boxers he hoped he’d lose sooner rather than later. His rustling and fumbling didn’t even cause Johnny to stir.

Mike knew his concussed brain was recovering when he realized he was reading his novel without having to start over again and again. He’d tried to read while he couldn’t sleep at the hospital, but he’d abandoned the task, since he kept losing his place. 

He allowed himself to be distracted as Johnny rolled over next to him, throwing his arm over Mike’s outstretched legs. Mike watched in amusement as Johnny lifted his head up, squinting, as if wondering how he could’ve gotten so low on the bed that his arms found knees. 

Johnny pushed himself up on one elbow, and immediately pushed himself upright and began a coughing fit. Mike closed his book, setting it on the nightstand, and rubbed Johnny’s back, as he’d so desperately wanted to during their bizarre together-yet-apart night at the hospital.

The coughing ended on its own, without further incident.

“Okay?” Mike said.

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“A lot better,” Mike said truthfully. 

Johnny leaned back into Mike’s arms, and they both jumped as Mike yelped.

“Ow ow! Chest!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Johnny said. “Shoot, I’m so bony, and I forgot about that nasty bruise.”

“Never mind,” Mike said, shoving the couch cushion onto the floor and lying down on his side. “C’mere.”

They kissed slowly, and pulled apart just to put their foreheads together and breathe for a moment. 

“Wanted to hold you, so bad, all last night,” Johnny said, wriggling his lean body to be closer than he already was. 

“Me, too,” Mike said, wrapping his top leg over Johnny’s and pulling their bodies even closer together. “Now’s our chance, I’d say.”

Johnny buried his face in Mike’s neck, careful not to approach the horrendous bruise on his chest from the wayward hose coupling. He threaded his fingers through Mike’s still-damp hair, open lips breathing their way hotly up his neck, until they paused at Mike’s ear. Mike could hear raggedness in Johnny’s breathing, more than he’d heard a few minutes ago, and he pulled back in mild alarm, just to look to make sure Johnny was okay.

Johnny’s face was screwed up in a way Mike hadn’t ever seen before, and it took a moment for Mike to realize Johnny was fighting back tears. 

“Aw, babe,” Mike said. 

“Jesus, Mikey; I love you so much, and … it’s … when I saw you down on the ground, it was …”

Mike pulled Johnny back in again, not caring about hurting the bruise on his chest, because that pain was nothing compared to what was happening on the inside.

Especially when Johnny continued.

“Don’t leave me,” Johnny begged. “Please, don’t leave me. If I have to quit my job to keep you, it’s no contest. Just … don’t go.”

“What?” Mike said. “No _way_ am I leaving you. Why would you even _think_ that?”

“Because … because I understand, now, how bad it is for you, every single fucking time, when I have to do crazy shit, and you have to watch, and I just don’t know how we’re gonna _fix_ that! How can we _possibly_ fix that, without fucking everything else up?”

“We’ll fix it,” Mike said, holding Johnny’s face in his hands. “We have to. Okay? We _have_ to. If _we_ get fucked up, everything else gets fucked up too. So we’ll fix it. We _have_ to.”

“How? _How_ do we fix this?” Johnny demanded, no longer able to check the rush of tears. 

Mike shook his head. “I don’t know. We can’t fix it today. Or tomorrow. But we’ll find a way. Because nothing else matters, all right?”

“Nothing else,” Johnny said, wiping a wrist across his face. 

Almost angrily, he clamped his mouth to Mike’s, who returned the kiss with equal vigor. Despite his earlier anticipation of gentle, tender, kiss-it-all-better lovemaking, Mike could see that wasn’t what Johnny wanted, so he shifted his mindset to give Johnny what he needed. And what that was, Mike wasn’t entirely sure of yet. As Mike rolled them, flipping Johnny over onto his back, his chest screamed, and his back stung. Even blunt fingernails could leave marks if they were desperate enough, and Johnny’s apparently were.

Johnny arched up into the kiss, demanding more, and his hands raked down Mike’s back and caught the waistband of the boxers Mike had been hoping to lose, and yanked them down. Johnny used his feet to shove them down to Mike’s ankles, where Mike was able to kick them away. Somewhere along the way, threads popped, but nobody cared.

To Mike’s surprise, he found himself flipped over onto his back, seemingly effortlessly, with Johnny looking down at him from above, brown eyes piercing his skull like diamond-tipped drill bit. Mike opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but Johnny was having none of it, silencing him with a nearly brutal kiss. 

Mike went along with what Johnny was doing, still not totally understanding what Johnny needed. Well, he thought, there was a way to fix that, at least.

“What do you need, babe? Anything. Just tell me,” Mike murmured, after Johnny let his mouth go and started working down his neck. He ran his hands through Johnny’s hair, the gentleness of his action a stark contrast with Johnny’s franticness.

Johnny’s eyes were wild as they met Mike’s.

“I … uh …” Johnny’s breath was ragged, and he turned away and coughed, and brought his gaze back to Mike’s. “It’s freaky,” Johnny said. 

“Anything,” Mike said again, reaching up with the one hand Johnny didn’t have pinned to the mattress and carding through his thick hair. “Tell me.”

“I need … shit, Mikey.” Johnny coughed again, and when he was done, Mike took Johnny’s hand, and used it to pin his own free hand to the bed, so Johnny now had both of Mike’s hands down on the bed.

“I need to fuck you,” Johnny said, his face coloring as he looked away.

“I always like that real well, so no problem here,” Mike said. “And what else?” he asked, knowing that wasn’t all there was to it.

“And, uh, I can’t take away the marks yesterday left on you. I wish I could.” Johnny’s eyes stayed fixed on a point on the floor, and he wasn’t able to go on, and Mike suddenly understood.

“Make your own marks,” Mike said. “You won’t hurt me. Leave some proof—plenty of it—that we matter more than the job, and what it does to us.”

Johnny whimpered with relief, and Mike knew he had it just right, so he went on.

“Finger-shaped bruises where you hold onto me so hard you know I’m yours,” Mike said, squeezing Johnny’s hands. “Hickeys on my neck—suck it like a vampire, Johnny. It’s yours,” he said, tipping his neck back invitingly. “Anywhere you want,” Mike said, “anything you want, babe; I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere. I’m all yours.”

Johnny seemed to calm at Mike’s words, and planted his lips on Mike’s neck, kissing him gently, almost reverently, until he came to a place at the juncture of neck and shoulder, that would be covered by clothing, and would remain private to the two of them. He tongued the spot, and then sucked, almost greedily, leaving a crescent shaped mark.

“That’s it, babe,” Mike said. He wanted to stroke Johnny’s back, but Johnny still had his hands pinned over his head, so Mike didn’t resist. If control was what Johnny needed, control he’d have.

Johnny worked his lips down from Mike’s shoulder to his chest, and ghosted light kisses around the edge of the bruise. He let go of one of Mike’s hands, and traced the perimeter of the bruise gently with his fingertips, and Mike shivered with the not-quite-pain of the gesture. Johnny returned his lips to Mike’s chest, first seeking out the nipple on the side away from the bruise and tending to it thoroughly, before returning to the edge of the bruise and sucking tiny marks into Mike’s skin, scattered in a connect-the-dots pattern around the site of the injury. 

Apparently satisfied with his marks of ownership, at least for the time being, Johnny nuzzled his way down the treasure trail and held Mike lightly at the hips, resting his thumbs in the hollows of his hipbones. Now that Mike’s hands were free, he stroked Johnny’s hair, and Johnny pressed his cheek into Mike’s touch, like a cat. Johnny stroked his hands up and down Mike’s body, touching as much as he could reach in their current positions.

“Can you …” Johnny asked, shy in his request.

“Can I what, babe? Anything.”

“Can you be on your belly? Or will that hurt your chest?”

Johnny’s hands stroked lightly up and down his back, rear, and legs, as Mike rolled over and arranged pillows so he was comfortable, with his weight mostly on his knees and elbows. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Johnny murmured to him. “Every bit of you. One of the first things I thought to myself when I walked into Station 51, all those years ago, was, gonna hafta work hard to not look at _him_.”

Mike chuckled. “Look all you want. All yours.”

“Mine,” Johnny agreed. “All showery fresh, too. Mmm, mmm.”

Mike finally allowed himself to relax as Johnny pressed kisses down the center of his spine, all the while stroking his ass with one hand, letting his fingers stray into the crack. Johnny rearranged himself lower on the bed, straddling Mike’s legs, letting his hands trail down to Mike’s butt cheeks. Mike made contented sounds as Johnny gently kneaded and spread the cheeks, and all the while his lips planted tiny kisses along Mike’s waistline.

Mike thought he was melting into the bed, like a puddle of very, very hot wax, where just a little more heat, or perhaps a spark, might make it burst into flames. He felt Johnny’s hot breath as his lips sucked marks onto one cheek, then the other. Johnny’s strong hands spread his cheeks again, and Mike anticipated the sensation of a finger circling his entrance, but instead, he gasped as something wet and hot touched him instead.

“Hnnnh … holy _fuck_!” Mike said, as he clenched the sheets with fisted hands.

“Mm,” Johnny replied, and Mike could hear the laughter in his voice, even though he didn’t say any words—his tongue was too busy for that, circling and probing.

Mike clutched the sheets and panted to keep himself from launching right out of the bed. Just when he didn’t think he could take any more of the exquisite torture, he heard the cap of the lube flipping open, and slick fingers took over. Mike pushed back into Johnny’s touch, and his desperation must have shown.

“Too bad you didn’t like that at all,” Johnny said.

“Ngggh,” Mike agreed.

“Man, I love seein’ you all heated up like this. Just love it, Stoker.” He made his words mean something more, by finding one of Mike’s clenched hands with his own free hand, and intertwining their fingers.

Johnny prepped Mike thoroughly but efficiently, and pushed in slowly, at the angle he knew was best for both of them. When he bottomed out, he held his breath and stayed still, to let Mike adjust, holding him lightly around the waist. Mike reached back and covered one of Johnny’s hands, pressing it firmly.

“Hard,” he said. “Hold me hard. _Do_ me hard. Leave fingerprints, handprints. I love it, babe, and you need it.”

Johnny took him at his word, holding onto his hips as if they were all that stopped him from falling off a sheer precipice. And perhaps they were.

Mike came first, by which point his clutching hands had already half-stripped the bed of its sheets. Johnny followed shortly, vising one hand on Mike’s hip, and the other on his shoulder, and Mike was sure he’d have beautiful, perfectly finger-shaped bruises. Johnny’s weight collapsed onto Mike’s back, and their hands found each other’s, fingers lacing together automatically.

At some level, Mike was aware that his sore chest and ribs were throbbing, but for the moment, the endorphins took care of that. Johnny’s hot panting breaths on his neck weren’t cooling him down any, nor was the 160-pound, 99-degree blanket covering him. 

Johnny’s breath hitched and wheezed momentarily, and he rolled his weight off Mike and coughed, sitting upright. Mike sat up as well, and wrapped his arms around Johnny from behind. He could feel the rattling in Johnny’s chest, and the low-pitched rumble followed by high-pitched wheezing when he inhaled. He held him until his coughing fit was done, then crawled around to face Johnny, wincing as his chest muscles reminded him how he badly he’d just violated his discharge instructions.

Mike knew better than to ask Johnny, yet again, if he was okay, because neither one of them was really okay, in about thirty-seven different ways, and they both knew it. He just rested his forehead lightly on Johnny’s, and contemplated the pounding in his own head.

At the same time, Johnny’s brain was shifting into sentience again, and he remembered his desperation to own, mark, possess; and the fear that had brought on that condition in the first place. He wrapped his still-boneless limbs around Mike’s cross-legged form, and scootched in as close as he could, like an octopus wrapping itself around a rock.

In a sudden moment of clarity, Johnny realized that’s exactly what Mike was—among other things. His rock, his linchpin in the mess of life. Johnny had never before craved the feeling of being tethered, likening it too much to being tied down or constricted. But now, he found himself wanting nothing more than the assurance that when he cast his anchor to the sea, it would find purchase somewhere safe and welcoming, no matter how stormy the seas.

“I gotcha,” Mike said, as if reading his mind. “Not gonna let go. Not ever.”

The phone chose that particular moment to ring, and Johnny just let it go, and go, and go. After ten rings, it finally stopped. 

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do,” Johnny said. “I just don’t know.”

“Me neither. But I think today, or tomorrow, or even Sunday, would all be terrible days to decide. So let’s just … rest, I guess. And when our heads are clearer, we can think about it.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Johnny turned away and coughed again, and then turned back to Mike. He traced his fingers over the chain of marks he’d left around the bruise on Mike’s sternum.

“Sorry,” he said, looking away again.

Mike gently turned Johnny’s face back towards him again. “Hey, what part of ‘I’m all yours’ and ‘I love it’ didn’t you get?”

“I just … I feel like I _used_ you, for my own purposes. For my own insecurities.”

“No way. Isn’t it great, how it worked out? You had an intense desire to stake a claim, and I really needed to be possessed by you. We can do some gently-taking-care-of-each-other stuff later, but that’s not what we needed just then, was it.”

“I guess not,” Johnny said.

“And you know what we need right now?”

“Food,” Johnny said. “Well, I need a shower, too, but food.”

“Never harms one’s outlook on life, does it?”

“Nope.”

“Only one problem,” Mike said.

Johnny scowled. “Nothing in the fridge, right?”

“Right. So how about we have a fire-station-fast shower, and then we’ll go to the diner.”

“Good.”

The shower wasn’t quite fire-station-fast, but in fifteen minutes they were presentable and ready to go.

“Holy crap, it’s four o’clock!” Johnny said, as he put his watch on. “Man, we’re gonna be totally upside-down.”

Mike shook his head. “Not me. I’ll be able to go to sleep again at a pretty normal hour, I’m afraid.”

Johnny sighed, and coughed. “Yeah, I guess I will too.”

The phone rang again, just as they were about to leave.

“I guess I better get it this time,” Johnny said. He picked up the living room extension.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey, Johnny. How are you feeling?_ ” Roy asked.

“Oh, a lot better. Just got up, actually,” Johnny said.

“ _I called before, and you didn’t answer—that had me worried. If you didn’t answer this time, I was just gonna show up._ ”

“Yeah, well, we were kinda … busy.”

Johnny could swear he actually heard Roy’s eyebrows rising.

“ _Aren’t you supposed to be_ resting _?_ Both _of you?_ ”

Johnny scowled. “It was _necessary_ , Roy.”

“ _All right, all right—none of my business. Are you feeling better?_ ”

Johnny paused. “Mostly.”

“ _Uh huh. What’s going on, Junior?_ ”

Johnny sighed heavily. “It’s … complicated.”

“ _Ah. Lemme guess: it finally sunk in, didn’t it? The complications of working together_.”

“Yeah.”

A long silence passed, while Johnny tried to figure out what else he could say. There wasn’t anything, really.

“ _How can I help?_ ” Roy asked, finally breaking the stillness.

“I honestly don’t know, Roy. I’d tell ya if I did, but I honestly don’t have a clue. Any ideas you have—toss them right my way, because I’m stumped.”

“ _I won’t take it personally if you decide you need to transfer,_ ” Roy said. 

“But I can’t … uh … right. Thanks. I—we—we’re not going to make any decisions in the next couple days. Not till our heads are clearer, you know? But we get it.”

“ _I was afraid you would_ ,” Roy said.

There was another moment of silence on the line. “Thanks for not saying ‘I told you so,’” Johnny said.

“ _I wouldn’t do that. I knew you guys would realize it wasn’t going to be possible to work together. I just wish it hadn’t happened this way_.”

“Yeah. Me too. But, no permanent damage done, at least,” Johnny said.

“ _Mike’s better too_?”

“Yeah. Back to his normal self, mostly,” Johnny said. “I’ve still got a cough, but it’s not like yesterday.”

“ _Good. Well … call us if you need anything, okay?_ ”

“Yeah, we will. Thanks, pal.”

“ _You’re welcome. Say hi to Mike._ ”

“Will do. Bye.”

“ _Bye_.”

Johnny put the phone down, and looked at Mike, who’d taken a seat on the couch, and was unabashedly listening, which was only fair, since the conversation involved him.

“Roy says hi,” Johnny said.

“Uh huh. He’s a good friend,” Mike said. “What did he say, that made you talk about how we’re not going to make any decisions right now?”

“That he’d understand if I needed to transfer.”

“That’s … that’s good. But let’s not think about it right now. Let’s go eat lots of really unhealthy food, and then come back here.”

“Okay. You sure you don’t wanna go to your place?”

“We’re already here. Maybe tomorrow,” Mike said, as they finally left the apartment. “And, fuck it all, I better call my mom when we get back. Explain what happened, and all. Boy, am I not looking forward to that.”

“I’ll hold your hand,” Johnny said.

“You better. Because she’s not gonna be happy.”

**TBC**

  
  



	31. Visitors: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy is always right.

**Chapter 31: Visitors: Part I**

  
  


“I don’t think there’s actually a word for it,” Mike said, as he and Johnny trudged up the stairs to Johnny’s apartment. Neither of them was moving quickly. “And there doesn’t _have_ to be a word for everything, you know.”

“I just think there oughta be. When you have breakfast food, but it’s pretty much dinnertime. So how about … ‘brinner.’ Like brunch, except dinner.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Sure, babe. Whatever. And by the way,” he added.

“What?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you were trying not to cough on your way up the stairs.”

“And don’t think _I_ didn’t notice how _you_ kept squeezing your eyes shut and rubbing your temples all through breakfast,” Johnny replied.

“Touché.” Mike sat down on the sofa and performed the maneuver Johnny had just mentioned. “Damn, I slept all day, but I’m tired again. Already.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I felt great. Wanna crash for a little while?”

Mike shook his head, and winced. “I wanna try to stay up till eight, at least. Then sleep all night.”

“That sounds like a good plan. We oughta just, I dunno, watch TV or something till then. Do something quiet, and try to—” Johnny was interrupted by the phone ringing.

He sighed, flopped down onto the couch, and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“ _Gage! How are you feeling, pal?_ ”

“Oh, not too bad, Cap, all things considered. Pretty tired, even though I slept all day.”

“ _I’m not surprised. When I’d been on the job for, oh, two years or so, I had an incident where I breathed in a lot of smoke. I threw up all day, coughed for a week, and didn’t feel right for a while after that. Only good thing was it got me right off cigarettes._ ”

Johnny laughed and coughed. “Yeah, I bet. Anyhow, Mike’s doin’ better too.”

“ _That’s good. Just between you and me, what Roy said about how you two looked at Rampart scared the stuffing outta me. Especially what he said about Stoker_.”

“Yeah, well, I’m right there with you on that one, Cap.”

“ _Say, if he’s awake, I’d like to check in with him._ ”

“Sure. Hang on.” Johnny handed the phone to Mike, which was easy, since he was lying on the sofa with his head on Johnny’s lap.

“Hi, Cap,” Stoker said. “Thanks for checking in.”

“ _Sure thing, pal. You doing better?_ ”

“You bet, Cap. Nasty headache, and a heck of a bruise on my chest from where the supply line whacked me, but I don’t think there’s any lasting damage.”

“ _Good—you gave us all quite a scare yesterday. And then when Roy said you had a pretty severe concussion—well, I sure didn’t like the sound of that. Even though you sounded … fairly normal when I spoke to you yesterday afternoon._ ”

“I’m mostly back to myself after a good long sleep,” Mike said.

“ _About that,_ ” Cap said. “ _You sure you’re okay at Gage’s place? I mean, that sofa can’t be too comfortable._ ”

“I’m fine, Cap. I mean, heck. I slept all day, right?”

“ _Sure, but wouldn’t you be more comfortable on a real bed? Our guest room is yours if you want it, and Roy would surely put John up for a couple days._ ”

“It’s easier this way, Cap. Honest. We’re looking out for each other,” Mike said. “So we don’t put anyone else to any trouble.”

“ _It’s no trouble, pal. Jane said the guest room is yours, any time. She won’t even mother-hen you too bad—not the type. Because I know you’d hate that. But seriously—you guys don’t have to drive yourselves insane by trying to look out for each other._ ”

“Really, Cap. We’re fine here.”

There was a silence at the other end of the line. “ _All right. If you change your mind, like I said, mi casa es tu casa._ ”

“Thanks.”

“ _On another note—be perfectly honest here, Stoker. How’s the chow situation over there?_ ”

Mike snorted. “Grim. How’s that for honest?”

“ _That’s what we figured. So, if you don’t mind, the missus and I will stop by in a little while with some food. And there’s plenty—some for you to take when you make it back to your place._ ”

“Thanks, Cap.”

“ _We’ll be by in half an hour or so, if that works for your busy social calendar_.”

Mike laughed. “We’re just sitting in front of the TV, trying not to get any stupider than we already are.”

Johnny coughed, jostling Mike, who was still lounged across him on the couch.

“ _Whoa, Stoker! You got that cough too?_ ”

“No, that was Gage. He’s right here in the living room too,” Mike said, wincing as he sat up. “And it’s quite a cough.” 

“ _I guess so! It sounded like he was right next to the phone! Anyhow—see you in a bit. And if Gage is offended that I assumed the grocery situation over there wouldn’t be so hot, so be it._ ”

“I doubt he’ll be offended, but I’ll warn him that it’s futile.”

Cap chuckled. “ _Good man. See you soon._ ”

“Thanks, Cap.”

Mike leaned over Johnny to hang the phone up.

“What’s futile?”

“Cap and Mrs. Cap are bringing food. It’s futile to be offended that they’d assume your cupboards are bare.”

“Oh. Well, he knows me, all right.”

“Yep. Now, what do we need to do to this place to make it look like I’m sleeping on the couch?”

Johnny’s eyes widened. “Oooh, good thought, Stoker. I guess your brain is back up to snuff.”

“Yep. And after we fake things up around here, I better call my folks. The longer I put off telling them, the worse it’ll be.”

“Tell ya what. You take the bedroom extension, and I’ll switch things up in here.”

“All right. Thanks. Not looking forward to this.”

“Oh, wait! I said I’d hold your hand. Lemme just get some sheets and stuff, and an extra pillow, and pile them in the living room like you’ve been sleeping out here. Then I’ll hold your hand,” Johnny said, dashing to the hall closet to get the linens. He unfolded the sheets, then folded them again loosely and untidily, and set them on the back of the sofa. He set the pillow near one arm of the couch, and then sat down.

“There,” he said. “That oughta look convincing enough.”

Mike held up one finger. “One more thing.” He went down the hallway to the bedroom, and grabbed the overnight bag that went back and forth between his house and Johnny’s, and set it next to the TV.

“Good thought. Now—no stalling. I’ll hold your hand, and you call your folks.” He patted the couch cushion next to him, and Mike sighed and sat down. 

“All right. Man, I hope my mother answers,” he said, as he punched the numbers into the phone.

“Stoker residence.”

Mike let out a sigh of relief. “Hi, Mom.”

“Michael! How nice of you to call? Or, should I be asking, is everything okay?”

“Hmm, I guess that’s a sign I should call more often. But actually, I had a little mishap at work yesterday, and spent the night at the hospital, but everything’s gonna be fine,” Mike said, silently adding ‘ _I hope._ ’

“ _Oh, no! What happened?_ ”

Mike told the story, leaving out any details he thought would be particularly distressing to his mother, like the verbal diarrhea, but made sure to include positive details like ‘no fractures.’ He then immediately went on to tell about Johnny’s smoke inhalation, to draw attention away from himself.

“ _Oh, dear! Do you need help around the house? No, let me rephrase that—I’ll come tomorrow, unless you really don’t want me to. Or—is Johnny’s family there? I don’t want to get in the way of anything..._ ”

“Um, his family’s not around here. But, uh, can I call you back? About you coming tomorrow?”

“ _Of course. Or I could call you later, if that’s easier_.”

“Uh, I’ll call you, since we’re actually at Johnny’s place. It’s … a little awkward right now, to be honest, because various guys on the shift are trying to get one or the other of us to stay with them, you know, since we both live on our own,” Mike said.

“ _But you just want to be together_ ,” his mother continued, “ _and that’s awkward to explain_.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah.” He couldn’t believe it—it seemed that his mother actually understood the problem.

“ _Let me put it to you this way, then,”_ Mrs. Stoker continued. _“What if you could tell your friends that your mother is coming, to take care of you, and that she insisted that your friend, who doesn’t have family in the area, came to stay as well?”_

“I … uh …” Mike was speechless.

“ _Call me back_ ,” Mrs. Stoker said. “ _You’ll need to talk it over. I understand. But … I hope you’ll let me come._ ”

“I’ll call you back,” Mike promised. “Give us a few minutes, okay?”

“ _Of course. I love you, sweetheart. And you know both your father and I worry terribly about how dangerous your job is._ ”

Mike snorted. “Funny thing is, I never got hurt when I was a regular fireman, which is much more dangerous than being an engineer. Seriously—this was just a freak thing. Some kind of equipmetn failure. Anyhow—love you too, and I’ll call back in a few minutes.”

Johnny indeed held his hand through the entire conversation. “What do we need a few minutes for?”

Mike leaned his head back onto the top of the sofa. “My mom wants to come, and stay at the house, and help us both out. She said it might make it easier to explain to the guys, too. That she insisted that my poor friend, who doesn’t have family in the area, should come to stay.”

“Hmm,” Johnny said. “Whaddaya think? Would it be too weird?”

Mike sighed. “I don’t know. She wanted to come visit anyhow. Wanted to meet you. Which is huge, Johnny. She tried to pretend Larry didn’t exist. But she actually wants to meet you. So, if you don’t mind, I … I kind of think it might work. For her to come out here for a couple days, and maybe stay at the motel down the street, you know, so it can look like you have the spare room. But if it’s gonna make things harder for you, to have her around, I can say no.”

Johnny picked at a fingernail, and chewed the corner of it. “Okay,” he said finally. “I think it’s okay. If it’s okay with you. And, uh …” Johnny stopped, and frowned.

“What?” Mike asked.

“She knows, right? That I won’t be using the spare room?” Johnny asked, chewing his fingernail again.

“Yeah, she does.”

Johnny nodded. “Okay. It’ll be … weird. But she’s your mom.”

“Yeah. And to be honest, it’ll be kind of nice to not have to cook, and all that jazz. So should I tell her to come out tomorrow?”

“Sure. I can drive us up to your place in the morning,” Johnny said. “And yeah, I’m kinda nervous. Because nobody except Roy … you know.”

“I know,” Mike said. 

“And it’s also, you know. Meeting the family,” Johnny said. “That’s … that’s new for me.”

“You can change your mind,” Mike said, reaching for Johnny’s hand to show he meant it. “Really. I understand, if it’s too much. Especially when you’re not a hundred percent.”

“No,” Johnny said. “No. It’s good. Call your mom back, and tell her we’re on.”

Mike leaned in and kissed Johnny on the cheek, letting his lips linger. “Thanks. It’s a big deal for me, actually, that even _one_ of my parents is accepting things at this point. I never, ever thought that would happen.”

“I know. I’ll try not to freeze up and look like a stupid idiot. Like that time on TV with Roy,” he said, shuddering at the memory.

“Just be yourself,” Mike said. “She’ll like you fine. Trust me.”

“Always,” Johnny said, and then laughed a little bit.

“What’s so funny?” Mike asked.

“Remember, on our first date, when we were trying to decide if it was gonna be okay to rip our clothes off and get it on, we said we’d try to trust each other, and see what happened?”

The corners of Mike’s lips quirked up slightly. “Yeah. I do remember. I think it worked out pretty well.”

“Me too,” Johnny said. 

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Johnny stood up and held out a hand to Mike. “I’m gonna put some coffee on, for when Cap comes by, which could be any time now, and you better call your mom back.”

“Yeah. But wait.” Mike pulled Johnny in, and kissed him properly, but not so thoroughly that he’d risk starting something that would have to stop.

Johnny started the coffee, trying not to make too much noise while Mike was on the phone with his mother. But the conversation was short, and Mike came into the kitchen when he was done.

“All set. She’ll be at my place by eleven, and she’ll stay at the Motel 6 down the street,” Mike said.

“Great,” Johnny said. He turned away and coughed, leaning on the counter for support. Mike couldn’t stop himself from laying a hand on Johnny’s back as he coughed.

“Geez,” Johnny said when he could talk again. “I’ll definitely be able to sleep at a reasonable hour; this is getting exhausting.”

Mike frowned. “Can you take some cough medicine or something?”

Johnny shook his head. “Still coughing up junk from the fire, so I shouldn’t try to stop it. It’s getting better, though. I think.”

“It’s sure better than last night,” Mike said. “Still sounds pretty alarming, though. It’s so … wet.”

“Well, the way I figure, that’s the lungs’ way of cleaning themselves out. I’m getting rinsed out, from the inside.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “You always have such gross explanations.”

“Well? That’s the way it is.”

“I’ll tell you,” Mike said, “when they first started talking about the paramedic training, all I could think was, how the hell are they gonna get firemen to do that stuff? But I guess there’s enough of you guys who can handle the … yuckiness … that it’s worked out all right.”

“Guess so!” Johnny said cheerfully. 

There was knocking at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Johnny said, clearing his throat of the last of that particular round of gunk. “You go sit down.”

Johnny opened the door, and admitted Cap and Mrs. Stanley.

“Hi Cap; hi Mrs. Stanley. Thanks for coming by,” Johnny said. Even though he had thought this round of coughing was done, it came on again. 

“My word, Gage,” Cap said. “That sounds awful.”

“You should’ve heard him at Rampart,” Mike said from the sofa.

Mrs. Stanley was carrying a large casserole dish, and Cap had a large covered bowl, with a foil package on top of that.

“Boys, we’ve got some provisions here,” Cap said, “since I hear you’re living Old Mother Hubbard style here.”

“Minus the dog,” Mike said.

“I was sorry to hear about your mishaps,” Mrs. Stanley said. “Hank was just about beside himself when he came home this morning, with two of his boys down at once.”

“Aw, really, Cap?” Johnny said. “You don’t need to worry about us. We’re doin’ fine, right, Stoker?”

“We are now,” Mike said. “But I was a little worried about both of us last night.”

“Pardon me while I go put things down in the kitchen,” Mrs. Stanley said, and she disappeared around the corner with her casserole.

“The bad news, though, is that the lung doctor says I need to be out for about two weeks,” Johnny said, sighing. “Just when I was really gettin’ back into the swing of things. But apparently if you get smoke inhalation again right after one round of it, it’s a lot worse. And ‘scuse me—I’ll just go help Mrs. Cap in the kitchen, if you wanna hand me that stuff, Cap.”

Cap handed the bowl and the foil package to Johnny, who joined Mrs. Stanley in the kitchen.

“How about you, Stoker? What did your doctor say?”

“I should know on Monday when I can come back,” Stoker said. He hesitated about saying anything else about what had been going on, and hoped Cap wouldn’t inquire further.

“Well, make sure you listen to your doctors,” Cap said sternly. “Because right now, you both look tired and run down, and Stoker, even though I don’t know much about concussions, I saw at the scene what that supply line did to your chest, and that’s gotta smart like the dickens.”

“Did anyone figure out what happened, to make the supply line blow off like that?” Mike asked, neatly sidestepping the issue of how much he was hurting.

“Yep,” Cap said. “Bad coupling. It broke right off along the path of the threads. Left part of itself behind on the intake, so we knew it wasn’t damage caused by flailing itself around. And it’s lucky it caught you on the coat, because it was sharp as hell where it broke. Still, that must be pretty painful.”

“Hurts like a sonofabitch,” Mike admitted, now that Mrs. Stanley was well out of earshot.

Cap squinted at Mike. “Seriously, pal; why don’t you come stay with us? That couch has gotta be killing you.”

“Really, Cap; it’s fine. We can look out for each other this way, without bothering anyone else. Besides—my mom is coming into town tomorrow, and she insisted that we bring Johnny to my house, and she’ll look after both of us for a couple days,” Mike said, silently thanking his mother for getting him out of justifying, yet again, his decision not to stay with the Stanleys.

“Oh, well, that makes sense,” Cap said. “Not that I don’t trust the two of you to look out for each other, especially since you got to be good buddies, but,” he shook his head, and pointed to the couch, “that thing can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s fine, Cap. Only one more night anyhow,” Mike said, choosing his words carefully so he wasn’t exactly lying.

“Please forgive my husband,” Mrs. Stanley said, as she and Johnny rounded the corner from the kitchen. “He can’t help meddling when his boys are in trouble.”

“You should see what they brought, Stoker! Casserole for dinner, and a salad, and a whole bunch of cookies,” Johnny said.

“Wow, thanks, Mrs. Stanley,” Mike said. “That’ll get us through till my mom comes, easy.”

“Oh, yes; John said your mother was going to look after you both for a couple of days. That’s nice,” Mrs. Stanley said.

 _I hope so,_ Mike thought.

“Well, Jane; let’s leave these boys to rest up some more,” Cap said. “Keep us posted, will you? Everyone was really worried.”

“Especially this one,” Mrs. Stanley said in a stage whisper, pointing to her husband.

“All right, all right. Rest up, Stoker. And Gage—eat up. You’re looking skinnier than ever,” Cap said.

“Aye aye, sir,” Johnny said, throwing Cap a salute as he opened the door for him and his wife.

He sagged against the door after he closed it.

“Man, I appreciate the food and all, but that was nerve-wracking,” Johnny said. 

“Tell me about it. Cap kept going on about how uncomfortable the couch must be. I kept sidestepping, without actually lying. I’m good at that,” Mike said dryly.

“Yeah. Well.” Johnny cleared his throat. “Let’s sit down.”

They sat on the couch, which Mike thought was ugly but perfectly comfortable as a couch, but was in fact glad he wasn’t sleeping on.

“I, uh … I know we weren’t gonna talk about it yet, but, uh …” Johnny cleared his throat again.

“We can _talk_ about it,” Mike said. “We just shouldn’t make any decisions, yet.”

“Right. Yeah. No decisions. Okay,” Johnny said. He leaned his head back onto the back of the sofa, and sighed heavily, looking at the ceiling.

“What’s goin’ on?” Mike said, taking Johnny’s hand.

“I just wanna make sure we’re on the same page, here. I guess … I guess I think Roy’s right.”

“That we shouldn’t work together?”

Johnny nodded. “I mean, I know we talked about all this stuff before I came back. But we never really came back to it. Never really checked in about how it was going.”

“No, we didn’t, did we,” Mike said. 

Johnny picked his head up, and looked Mike in the eye.

“Are we on the same page? That we _can’t_ keep working together?” His voice was shaking, and he hated himself for it. He cleared his throat again, trying to cover the emotion with coughing, but he knew he wasn’t fooling either himself or Mike.

“Yeah, babe. I think you’re right,” Mike said. “I thought we’d be all right—I thought that the daily worries might not be as bad as imagining what could happen—but I think the imagining is more a problem I would have, and I think the real problems of working together just showed themselves in a big way.”

Johnny blew out a tense breath, which rattled at the end. “Okay. Yeah. I know the imagining thing would be harder for you. I don’t think I’d really do that. But … what happened yesterday?” He shook his head. “I can’t do that again, Mikey. I just can’t.”

“I know.”

“And I know we said we wouldn’t make any decisions,” Johnny continued, his voice still quavering, “but it’s pretty obvious that one or the other of us has to transfer.”

“Yeah. I don’t mind if it’s me,” Mike said.

“Well, _I_ mind if it’s you,” Johnny said.

Mike cocked his head. “Why’s that? I wouldn’t think it would matter.”

“Because I don’t trust just any medic with you. I trust Roy.”

“Ah,” Mike said. “But what if I said I don’t trust just any engineer with you? Or any Captain?”

“Uh …” 

Mike shook his head. “Never mind. It’s just a thought. If you transfer, though, I will ask one thing of you.”

“What’s that?” Johnny asked.

“That you really, really try to put your life ahead of your victims’, if push comes to shove. Like how you were buddy-breathing with the guy yesterday? I don’t know if I would’ve done that. But I bet you didn’t think twice. What I’d ask, is that you think twice.”

Johnny nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay. Three times, even. I don’t need to uphold my reputation as a crazy daredevil. That doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds.

“It sounds,” Mike said heavily, “like maybe we made a decision after all.”

“Yeah, it sorta does, doesn’t it. I’ll … I’ll talk to Cap on Sunday, when A-shift’s on again.”

Mike kissed the back of Johnny’s hand, and then leaned close to Johnny, who put an arm around Mike’s shoulders. They sat like that for a long time, not saying anything. 

**TBC**   
  


  
  



	32. Visitors: Part II

**Chapter 32: Visitors, Part II**

Johnny and Mike lounged on the couch for what was left of the afternoon, and watched whatever happened to be on television, which wasn’t much. Mike put Mrs. Stanley’s casserole in the oven at around 6:30, when the diner food started to wear off. When the kitchen timer dinged to signal that the meal was ready, Mike woke Johnny, who had fallen asleep across his lap, so he could get the casserole out of the oven.

They ate quietly, until Mike finally mentioned the elephant in the room.

“It sucks,” he said, and Johnny knew he didn’t mean the food.

“Yeah, it kinda does. But it’s the only choice.”

“I suppose,” Mike said, stabbing lettuce with his fork as if the greens had caused their problems. “The funny thing is, I can’t imagine not working with you anymore, but I also can’t see how we _can_ work together.”

“We could go around in circles, forever,” Johnny said.

“We could,” Mike agreed. “But I think it’s the right decision.”

“Lesser of two evils,” Johnny said.

“So, what’re you gonna say to Cap? I mean, he’s gonna want an explanation.”

“I know. I’ll have to think about that. Maybe when I’m feeling better. Obviously I can’t tell the entire truth, but he saw how I freaked out when you went down. I suppose I could just tell him it’s too hard treating people I’m close to.”

Mike frowned. “I don’t know if he’s gonna buy that, babe.”

“Well, what’m I _s’posed_ to tell him? That it just about killed me to see my boyfriend lyin’ there in a heap? That I’m helplessly in love with our shift’s engineer, and I can’t stand the idea of seeing him get hurt?” Johnny coughed heavily, and his breathing wasn’t easy afterwards.

“Johnny …”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Get a grip, Gage. I guess this is why we weren’t gonna make any decisions until we were feeling better. But I don’t see any other way.”

“Me neither. But when we’re better, we’ve gotta come up with the right thing for you to say to Cap,” Mike said. “After my mom leaves.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. “And about that.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Hmmm?”

“Just … wallop me if I start to get stupid. Honest, I get real dumb when I’m nervous, and then I clam up, and it’s all ‘uh,’ and ‘you know,’ and ‘duh.’ Real impressive.”

Mike snorted. “You don’t have to impress her. She saw the stars in my eyes when I was out visiting for her birthday.”

“Stars, huh?” Johnny said, finally producing the crooked grin that had been absent all evening.

“Galaxies,” Mike said.

“I can live with that,” Johnny said, as he finished the last of the food on his plate. “Kinda planning on making you see some more stars, later.”

“Mmm,” Mike said. “I bet those cookies will keep till tomorrow. Maybe we should have an early bedtime.”

“I’m right there with you. Let’s shove all this stuff in the fridge. And leave the dishes, Stoker. It’s my place—we’re allowed to do that. Leave ‘em in the sink,” Johnny said, as his chair screeched backwards on the tile floor.

“Okay,” Mike said. “I’ll try not to get up in the middle of the night to wash them.”

Johnny laughed. “Now, even _you_ wouldn’t do that, would you?”

Mike didn’t say anything.

“Uh, you weren’t kidding, were you,” Johnny said, as he cleared the table.

“When … when I was at my worst, yeah, I couldn’t leave a mess in the kitchen,” Mike said. “At least, not without freaking out.”

Johnny covered the casserole and salad and stowed them in the refrigerator. “Oh. Uh, sorry. I wasn’t trying to make fun.”

Mike shrugged. “I brought it up. I guess it shows my progress, if I’m not gonna freak out about dirty dishes in the sink.”

“We could wash them. It’s not that big of a deal.” Johnny’s mind overflowed with memories of the moment a few weeks ago, when he’d taunted Mike about washing his dishes before storming out after their first real fight.

Mike put a hand on Johnny’s arm to stop him as he reached for the tap. “It’s okay. Really.”

“You sure?”

Mike nodded, and dropped two forks haphazardly into the sink with the plates. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Johnny looked at the corner of the room, and then back again. “I, uh, I’m sorry about making fun of you that time, when we were fighting.”

Mike snorted, and shook his head. “You were right. I couldn’t help it, and that was bizarre, really. I guess when I’m stressed out that obsessive-compulsive stuff shows more.”

“Doesn’t mean I should poke at the sore spots, though. So I apologize for that.”

“It’s okay,” Mike said. “We were fighting. We both said dumb things. It’s done.”

“Yeah.” Johnny looked Mike in the eye, and hooked a hand around the back of his neck. He kissed him quickly. “It’s done an’ over with.”

“Now, what were we doing?” Mike asked, as he moved still closer to Johnny, pressing him up against the counter and kissing the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Early bedtime, for two recuperating patients, if I recall correctly,” Johnny replied, leaning back against the counter, and tipping his head back to give Mike the access they both wanted him to have.

“Mmm,” Mike said. “How come you still taste like french fries? We left that diner four hours ago.”

“Uh …”

Mike laughed, and slipped his hands up under Johnny’s t-shirt, kissing him as he pulled the shirt up. Johnny helped by raising his arms, but neither of them wanted to break the kiss, and the shirt somehow ended up going over Mike’s head and hanging around his neck.

Johnny’s laughter broke the kiss. “You’re ridiculous, Stoker,” he said, pulling his shirt back over Mike’s head and tossing it aside. He quickly divested Mike of his three-quarter sleeve baseball shirt, and they lingered in a kiss again, chest to chest, until Mike started maneuvering Johnny out of the kitchen.

“Feeling better?” Johnny asked, coughing a little as he was urged down the hallway.

“Lots,” Mike said. “Lots and lots and lots.”

“Good,” Johnny said, as they entered his bedroom.

As was his habit, Mike closed the bedroom door, even though there was nobody else in the apartment. As soon as the door was closed, he put one arm around Johnny, pulling him in close at the hips, and caressed his cheek with the other, kissing him gently but with an undisguised sense of urgency. He tasted the sharpness of the salad dressing, a hint of onion from the casserole, and underlying it all, something still not-quite-right from yesterday’s smoke inhalation.

The early afternoon’s frantic lovemaking had been necessary; yes, very necessary, Mike reflected. But what he needed now was tenderness, and from Johnny’s quiet responsiveness and gentle caresses, he suspected that desire went both ways. Tenderness and subtlety wasn’t weren’t flavors that had turned up much in their sexual repertoire, except perhaps as a side dish, with the main course generally leaning along the lines of urgency, passion, intensity, and thrill, with love and caring seasoning the dish perfectly. But tonight, tenderness was what they both craved, so that was what they’d serve up to each other, without even needing to discuss the menu.

As if reading Mike’s mind, Johnny broke the kiss, just to murmur “Love you,” but swiftly returned his lips to their task. Mike replied by humming into the kiss, and pulling away just enough to undo the button on Johnny’s fly, and to lower the zipper. Johnny returned the favor, and Mike’s jeans, never as painted-on as Johnny’s, fell to the floor under their own weight, while Johnny had to shimmy his hips as Mike assisted gravity in sending his Wranglers downwards. Underwear followed immediately, and skin needily connected with skin.

They took their time, standing next to the bed, to touch and feel and need, giving and taking freely and without a hint of hurry or anxiety. When it was time, Johnny backed towards the bed, and pulled Mike down on him, and they both enjoyed the effect of gravity doing its job, pulling the masses of their bodies together.

Mike felt he’d neglected attending to Johnny earlier that afternoon. Even though Johnny’s immediate needs had been met, and the encounter had been highly pleasurable for both of them, it was heavily colored by desperation, anxiety, and outright fear of loss. This would be different, Mike knew, and he delighted in the fact that Johnny knew it too.

Mike stroked Johnny’s tongue with his own a few more times, and then broke the kiss, only to lavish attention on Johnny’s neck, working down to the prominent notch above his sternum, and further still to a nipple, dusky against Johnny’s caramel skin. He felt Johnny’s hands tighten in his hair as he swirled his tongue around the tiny nub, suddenly wondering why male humans even _had_ nipples, but then chuckling to himself as Johnny’s sharp intake of breath answered his question, at least partially.

He switched to the other side to give it fair treatment, and shivered as Johnny’s fingertips ghosted along his spine and shoulder blades, no doubt crossing some of the scratches they’d left earlier that afternoon. Mike had a sudden surge of emotion, remembering how desperate they both were to prove they were more important to each other than their jobs were. A small mewling sound escaped his lips, unnoticed by either of them.

As Johnny’s hands reached lower, finding the waist and hipbones imprinted with hand-shaped marks, Mike couldn’t decide whether he wanted to press his weight against Johnny’s slim but sturdy body, or push back into his strong hands. He alternated between these choices, and the rocking movement turned out to be what he wanted most of all.

After a while, the thin slick of clean sweat forming between them wasn’t enough to ease the friction, and Mike reluctantly lifted his weight off of Johnny to reach for the lube.

“Gimme,” Johnny said breathlessly, holding out a hand. Mike squeezed a dollop onto Johnny’s callused palm, and tossed the tube on the floor, straddling Johnny, watching him warm the gel between his palms. He watched raptly, and melted with the sensation as Johnny slicked up both their cocks, leaving his hands slippery.

“Now c’mere,” Johnny said, continuing with his gentle commands, and Mike eagerly settled his weight back down, feeling Johnny’s hands encouraging their cocks to line up just right.

Under other circumstances, their simultaneous utterance of “fuuuuuck,” with identical intonation, might have been amusing, but in this case, as Mike gently thrust his hips back and forth, they had both lost all capacity for anything other than pleasure and enjoying each other.

Mike looked down into Johnny’s stoned-looking eyes, and he maneuvered himself so all the essential equipment was still positioned properly, but so that he could also capture Johnny’s swollen lips in a kiss, the slide of their tongues echoing the slide of their cocks.

Johnny whimpered into the kiss, and grabbed Mike’s ass with his free hand, not guiding or controlling Mike’s thrusts, but letting his still-slick fingers slide into the crack. Mike groaned at the addition of this sensation, and repositioned on of his legs to give Johnny better access. He paced himself, willing himself to keep his movements languid and gentle, wanting the experience and the feelings to last.

Mike pulled away from the kiss briefly, just to look at Johnny’s face in the dim light of the bedroom, and had no doubt, none whatsoever, that Johnny’s blissed-out expression, just for him, was the most gorgeous look he’d ever seen on the man. He dived back into the kiss, and soon they were both lost in the flow of the moment.

Too soon, Mike could feel Johnny arching up to meet each thrust, going for more heat, more friction. They moved together like they’d never done anything else, and Mike had to release Johnny’s lips from their kiss to let out the sounds they were both making at every movement. As Johnny’s free hand pulled their bodies closer together, expressing his urgency, Mike couldn’t help it, and sped up the movement of his hips far sooner than he’d meant to. He often got talky at this point, but this time, he just couldn’t form words.

Their eyes were locked at the moment when Mike felt the tension ratchet up in Johnny’s body. Mike stilled his movement as Johnny clutched him hard, and cried out in time with the spurts of heat Mike could feel between their bodies. Their gazes remained locked as Johnny, panting, urged Mike to continue moving.

“Go, babe; come for me,” Johnny gasped, not knowing or caring how he had the breath to speak, as he arched up as if to make Mike move again.

That slight movement was all it took, and Mike braced himself on his shaking arms as he fell off the cliff, his vision sparkling on the periphery as his body was wracked with pleasure of almost unbearable intensity. Overwhelmed by the combination of orgasm and emotional intensity, Mike collapsed onto Johnny, but quickly rolled them both to their sides. Even in the top position he could hardly breathe, and he knew Johnny had to put extra effort into that task.

Mike couldn’t resist, and once again took Johnny’s mouth with his own, each of them pulling away again quickly to continue to breathe, forehead to forehead. Johnny’s sticky hand, trapped between them, gave one last stroke, almost too much for their overstimulated bodies. Mike pulled back slightly, to let oxygen-bearing air come between them. With that slight distance added, their eyes found each other’s again, and Mike’s free hand caressed Johnny’s cheek, just as Johnny’s upper hand traced the line of the valley between Mike’s long, lean back muscles. They breathed, and gazed, and kissed, and stroked, as they came down from their high.

Mike was the first to speak, but he realized it didn’t matter—whoever was first would’ve said the same thing anyhow.

“Love you so much,” Mike whispered.

Johnny closed his eyes briefly, and claimed Mike’s lips in another kiss, which he pulled away from only to echo Mike’s words.

“So much,” Johnny said, “I can hardly stand it.” He tucked his chin down, and coughed noisily. “Sorry,” he said, when the bout was over.

“Shh,” Mike said. “’s okay.”

They lay there together for several more minutes, basking in the afterglow, half asleep.

“Gonna regret it in the morning if we don’t clean up,” Johnny said drowsily.

“Mmm,” Mike said. “Prob’ly.” He sat up slowly, as if he hadn’t been upright for days, rather than half an hour, and put out a hand to help Johnny sit up. Johnny sat up, coughed a bit, and then planted his feet on the floor. He returned the favor, extending a hand to Mike, and helping him to his feet.

In the bathroom, Johnny turned on just the dim light that came on with the ventilation fan, and opened the faucet to let the water come up to temperature. In the shower, they soaped each other up and rinsed each other down. They didn’t hurry, but were both aware they were wobbling on limbs weakened by sex and pre-existing conditions.

When they were clean, they toweled each other off, and performed the most cursory of tooth-brushing before falling back into bed. They spooned together, Mike curling protectively around Johnny, and Johnny clutching Mike’s arm to his chest. With Mike’s face buried in Johnny’s neck, and Johnny holding Mike’s hand to his cheek, they fell asleep. Nothing had ever felt safer to either of them.

~!~!~!~

_The next morning, 1045, Mike’s house._

Johnny stood in the middle of the living room, holding the electrical cord he’d just unplugged.

Mike took one hand off the vacuum cleaner so he could turn to glare at him.

“What’d you do _that_ for?”

“Mike, you need to stop. It’s fine. You’re supposed to be resting. Not vacuuming. _Definitely_ not vacuuming behind the furniture.”

“But—”

Johnny shook his head. “I can see you’ve got a headache. You’re squinting, even though it’s kinda dim in here, and you keep rubbing the back of your neck. That’s your brain, goin’ along with me, and tellin’ you to just _stop_. Your mom is coming to help. Let her help. Plus, the place looks spotless, if you ask me.”

“But I hadn’t been here for four days! Everything was dusty, and—”

Johny held up one finger.

Mike sighed.

“Fine. You’re right. My head is killing me.” He let go of the vacuum cleaner, and flopped down onto the sofa. “It’s just that she hasn’t been here since … for a long time. And I want it to look right.”

Johnny paused in his task of coiling up the vacuum’s cord, and coughed. “It looks great in here. Trust me.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Yeah. Okay. I do.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, and held his forehead in his hands, rubbing his temples.

Johnny sat down next to him, and rubbed his back, turning away to cough. “Plus, if you’re doin’ stuff, then I gotta do stuff to. And if I do anything, I start hacking. So gimme a break, huh?”

Mike snorted. “Yeah, that works too. I surrender. She’ll be here in fifteen minutes, and it won’t be perfect, and that’s okay.”

“Totally okay,” Johnny said.

They sat quietly and calmly for a minute or so, and both jumped as the doorbell rang.

“Oh, shit!” Mike said, standing quickly. “She’s early!”

“That’s not a problem, right?” Johnny said, going to the door with Mike.

“No, you’re right.” Mike stopped in front of the door, put his hand on the knob, and took a deep breath as he opened the door.

“Michael!” Mrs. Stoker said, entering the foyer and hugging Mike, who bent down to kiss her and let himself be kissed on the cheek. “It’s good to see you.” She stepped back and held him at arms length for a moment, inspecting him with a mother’s eye. “I see it’s a good thing I’m here.”

“Well … uh … Mom, this is Johnny,” Mike said, ushering his mother further into the house.

“Good morning, Mrs. Stoker,” Johnny said, putting his hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Mrs. Stoker shook his hand. “Please call me Janet,” she said. “And it’s very nice to meet you, too. I knew as soon as I first saw Michael on my birthday that he had someone new in his life, and I made him tell me about you. I’m sorry this is the way we’re meeting, though.”

“Uh, yeah, uh, me too,” Johnny said. “I, um, think we’re both doin’ better, though. Right, Mike?”

“Better than when we were stuck in the hospital, that’s for sure,” Mike said. “Come on in, Mom. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Stoker said, as she made her way into the living room. “My, it looks nice in here. I hope you didn’t clean up on my account,” she said, frowning lightly at Mike.

“Well, not too much,” Mike said. “I was vacuuming, but Johnny made me stop.”

Janet Stoker took a seat on the chair across from the sofa, and raised her eyebrows at Johnny. “Really?”

Johnny coughed, and ducked his head. “Well, uh, he’s s’posed to be resting, and all that. I didn’t wanna get in the way or anything, and I like a clean house as much as the next guy, but, uh …”

“Relax, John,” Mrs. Stoker said. “All I meant was that it can be difficult to get him to listen when it comes to how to do things around the house. And it sounds like you have your head on straight. I imagine the doctor didn’t send him home to vacuum. So thank you.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, visibly relaxing. “You’re welcome.”

“In fact, when Michael was little,” she continued, “he used to beg to use the vacuum. It started to be his reward for doing chores he didn’t like so much.”

“Mom!” Mike protested.

“Aw, c’mon, Mikey. It’s not like I didn’t already have an inkling that maybe you were as much of a stickler when you were a kid as you are now.”

Mike buried his head in his hands again, ending up in the same position of defeat he’d been in just before the doorbell rang. “Can we please, please not play ‘tell embarrassing stories about Mike?’ Pretty please?”

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Stoker said. “At least, not while you’re in the room. Now. Can I make you boys some coffee? You both look like you need it.”

“Oh, I’ll get it, Mom,” Mike said, starting to get to his feet, with Johnny mirroring his movements, even though it only takes one person to make a pot of coffee.

“Uh-uh, Michael. Remember? I’m here to help out. That goes for you, too, John. So sit back down, and rest like you’re supposed to. And while the coffee is brewing, I want to hear the full and complete story of how exactly you ended up in the hospital, Michael, and what’s going on with you now. No arguing.”

“Yes, Mother,” Mike sighed. “Let me know if you can’t find something.”

“Oh, but it’s _your_ kitchen,” Mrs. Stoker said. “I suspect everything will be logical and obvious.”

Johnny tried and failed to suppress a titter, which came out his nose, and started another round of coughing, which Janet ignored on her way out. Mike, however, glared at Johnny again.

“What?” Johnny said, after he got his breath back.

Mike continued his stony glare.

“Yeah, okay; sorry I laughed at you. But it’s just so much fun, you know? Seeing that someone else has your number,” Johnny said, brushing a lock of hair away from Mike’s still-glaring eyes. “But I’ll try not to laugh at you any more. Okay?”

Mike’s glare softened. “Okay.”

“Good.” Johnny glanced towards the kitchen, and kissed Mike quickly.

Mike’s mother came out from the kitchen after a minute, and took her seat on the chair.

“Now. Michael. What in the world happened? And John, feel free to jump in any time, since I know perfectly well my son won’t give me the entire story in all its grittiness.”

“Well, Mom, I actually don’t remember much of it anyhow. Captain Stanley said it was equipment failure—that the coupling, which is the threaded metal part at the end of a hose that can connect it to the engine or to another hose, broke,” Mike said.

“Yeah, nobody actually saw what happened,” Johnny said. “There was just this ‘bang,’ and then the supply line was flyin’ all over the place, and Mike was out cold next to a cement bench. Best we could figure, from the bruise on his chest, the supply line whacked him real good, and tossed him into the bench head-first. Knocked him out cold.” Johnny shuddered at the memory of his first sight of Mike, lying in a heap.

Mrs. Stoker listened attentively, hands folded in her lap, as Johnny continued the tale.

“It was … uh … if I’d’a been smarter, I woulda had my partner Roy work on him,” Johnny said. “But we had a critical patient, and one of us had to stay there with him, and … well … I wasn’t exactly thinking straight when I ran over to Mike.”

“I would imagine not,” Mrs. Stoker said. “In fact, I don’t see how you boys can handle working together, in a dangerous job like that. I don’t even like to _think_ about Michael’s job, and _watching_ would be out of the question.”

Mike chuckled in a way that anyone who knew him understood didn’t mean he thought something was funny. “My job is nothing compared to what Johnny has to do. And what I have to watch.”

Mrs. Stoker raised her eyebrows. “Really? What exactly do you do?”

“Well, mosta the time, I’m a paramedic. Most of the calls me and Roy go on are emergencies where someone needs medical help. But I think what Mike’s talkin’ about is the rescue work. Getting people out of confined spaces, water, heights, that sort of thing.”

“Fires,” Mike added. “Which is how he got in trouble the other day. While I was outside at the pump panel, he was inside the building that was on fire. He ended up breathing in a lot of smoke while he and Roy were extricating someone from inside.”

Mrs. Stoker frowned. “But don’t you fellows have masks, or something, that give you air, from tanks on your backs?”

“Well, I—” Johnny started, but Mike interrupted him.

“It’s allowed—or I should say, there’s no policy against it _yet_ —for us to share our air with people we’re rescuing,” Mike said. “ _That’s_ not gonna last long. He probably saved the guy’s life, so I have mixed feelings about getting on his case about it. But …”

“But I learned a lesson,” Johnny said. “I mean, I woulda been no good to anyone if I’d become another patient while still in the building.”

“Exactly,” Mike said. “But—well, we’re on the same page, so let’s not hash it out again.”

“I promised Mike I’d think twice—”

“Three times,” Mike interrupted.

“Yeah, okay; three times, before I do that again,” Johnny said. He coughed, and Mike could tell he was trying not to.

“That’s sensible,” Mrs. Stoker said. “And—this is none of my business, but I assume none of your colleagues know anything about you two?”

“Well, actually, my partner Roy knows,” Johnny said. “But we can’t tell anyone else.”

“I imagine not,” Mike’s mother said dryly.

“Which is going to make it pretty tough for Johnny to explain to Captain Stanley why he’s asking for a transfer,” Mike said.

“Ah,” said Mrs. Stoker. “I was wondering when you’d get to that part.”

Mike squinted and rubbed his temples, and then the back of his neck. “Yeah. We weren’t gonna decide anything until we were feeling better, but then we started talking about the whole thing, and we kinda did decide some stuff. Even though we said we weren’t going to. It just kind of … happened. Without us planning to talk about it.”

Mrs. Stoker nodded. “I would imagine it might be hard not to discuss the elephant in the room.”

“Well, it kinda depends on what kind of elephant it is,” Mike said. “There’s the kind that it’s easiest not to talk about, at least in the short term, but then you feel crappy when you don’t talk about it, but it’s so unpleasant to even think about talking about it that you just can’t start. But then there’s the kind where it seems like it might go away, or at least stop crapping on the rug, if you talk about it. And this thing, the problems with working together, seemed like the second kind of elephant. Not that I really want any kind of elephant in my living room, but … well, you know.”

Johnny frowned at Mike, and risked a glance at Mrs. Stoker, who was starting to look worried. “You feeling okay, babe?”

“There’s a jackhammer in my head,” Mike snapped. “And I already took as much Tylenol as you’d let me. Are you _sure_ I can’t take some more? Because it doesn’t upset my stomach or anything like that. Not like aspirin.”

“No more Tylenol. Remember—too much is bad for your liver. You’re at the limit,” Johnny said.

“Maybe you should go rest for a while,” Mrs. Stoker suggested.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Mike said, wincing as he sat up straighter. “And you’ve only been here for fifteen minutes. Not even. So let’s just chat for a while, and have some lunch, which reminds me, I oughta get some stuff out of the fridge and—”

Johnny and Mrs. Stoker exchanged a glance.

“Mike,” Johnny said, interrupting what sounded like it promised to be a lengthy discussion of lunch options. He tempered the firmness of his tone by gently rubbing the back of Mike’s neck.

Mike opened his mouth as if to resume speaking, but then looked back and forth between his mother and Johnny, and sighed instead.

“Okay. I give up. I think maybe I oughta just go lie down in the bedroom, with the blinds closed.”

“I’ll tuck you in,” Johnny said. “’Scuse us a minute, Mrs. Stoker.”

“Janet,” Mike’s mother reminded him.

“Sorry, Mom,” Mike said. “You just got here, and I’m already going to bed.”

“It’s okay, Michael. It seems like you need the rest. Take your time.” She picked up the larger of the two bags she brought in, and got out a crossword puzzle book.

Four minutes later, Johnny padded back into the living room.

“I think he’s okay,” he said to Janet. “We were up pretty early, and I think this is the longest he’s been awake since he got that concussion.”

“I’m impressed,” Janet said.

“Huh?” Johnny said, cocking his head as he sat down again. He coughed a little. “By what?”

“By the fact that he listens to you. Aside from his father, he’s the stubbornest man I’ve ever met. You seem to have a way with him.”

Johnny smiled a little. “Well, I guess it works both ways.”

Janet smiled back at him. “I thought it might.” She paused for a moment, and put her crossword down. “So, John, what aren’t you telling me about Mike’s injuries?”

Johnny sighed. “Well, you just saw the part I’m most worried about.”

Janet nodded. “He was talking a blue streak, about nothing at all.”

“Yeah. It was way worse— _way_ worse—when he first got alert and oriented again. It was like he couldn’t stop—anything that popped into his head, had to come out his mouth. Which, for a guy who tends to be real careful about what he says, was pretty distressing. And, uh, it was kinda hard to see.”

“He seemed all right for a few minutes, though,” Janet said.

“I kinda think he was barely holding it together for the last hour or so. And maybe the vacuuming pushed him over the edge. I don’t know. Or maybe it was just time for him to rest.” Johnny coughed again, and the fit was longer this time. “Anyhow—he fell asleep like a minute after his head hit the pillow.”

“That’s unusual,” Janet said, “unless he’s changed a lot in the last ten years.”

“Pretty unusual,” Johnny admitted. “But this whole thing really knocked him for a loop.”

Janet cleared her throat. “Well. Coffee’s ready. Let me get you some, and do me a favor and don’t argue. How do you take it?”

“Black,” Johnny said. “Thanks.”

Janet left the room, and returned a moment later with two mugs, one of which she set in front of Johnny.

“Thank you,” Johnny said, as he picked up the coffee and had a sip. Janet did the same, and then set her mug down on the table.

“You probably know this already,” Janet said slowly, “but Michael’s father isn’t exactly … completely accepting of his son.”

Johnny nodded. “I’d heard. But he said that maybe they’re doing a little better.”

“I think that’s true,” Janet said, “but it’s fairly obvious that I’m here, and he’s not.”

Johnny squirmed in his seat, not really wanting to get involved in a family dispute, especially while Mike wasn’t there.

“Sorry,” Janet said. “I didn’t mean to drag you in to a decade of family unpleasantness.”

“Aw, that’s all right,” Johnny said, but was vastly relieved that she saw the problem.

“So, John,” Janet said, “tell me about yourself. I’ve heard the basics from Michael, but what would you like to add?”

“Well,” Johnny said, “this might be obvious, but I’m half Indian. On my mom’s side. I spent my childhood on a reservation, which had its ups and downs, especially being mixed like me. I like to be outside—I get outta the city pretty much whenever I can.”

“Mike mentioned he’s been camping and hiking a lot lately,” Janet said, smiling. “And now I know why.”

“Yep. Maybe when I retire from the fire department I’ll get some land, where I can have some horses or something, but for now I’m pretty much stuck in an apartment. It’s five minutes from the station, which is important to me, since I hate sitting in traffic. When I transfer, I’ll move somewhere close to my new station, probably.”

“That’s sensible,” Janet said. “I was glad when Chuck retired, and we could move away from the city. The traffic is just getting so terrible!”

“That’s for sure. And the air. And the crime. Plus it seems like everyone’s got a gun,” Johnny added. He started to sip his coffee, but had to put it down because he started coughing again.

“That really doesn’t sound good,” Janet said. “Anything I can do to help? Do you want anything from the drugstore?”

Johnny shook his head. “Thanks, but there’s nothing I’m supposed to take at this point. I just have to work the crud out of my system.”

“When are you allowed to go back to work?”

Johnny sighed. “Coupla weeks. Any new smoke exposure now would be real bad.”

“And how about Michael?”

“Well, he has an appointment with the neurologist on Monday, and then we’ll see. But I hope they make him take another week off. I mean, he can’t go four hours without gettin’ real tired.” Johnny coughed heavily again, and felt himself sagging.

Janet sighed. “John, I’m not your mother, but I think you ought to rest for awhile as well. I was thinking I’d go out and get some things for lunch anyhow. So I’ll make you a deal: you go rest, and when you two boys are up, lunch will be on the table. Now, that should sound like a deal you can’t refuse. And please, please, take me up on it, since I’m here to help.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said gratefully. “I will.”

“Now—I saw a small grocery store just down the street. Is that a reasonable place?”

“Sure is,” Johnny said. “And here,” he said, working his key off his keyring. “You hang onto this while you’re here.”

“Thank you,” Janet said, not batting an eye at the fact that Johnny had a key to Mike’s house.

Johnny finished his coffee, barely making it through the mug as the fatigue started hitting him like a slow train. Janet let herself out, and Johnny immediately went into the bedroom, stripped down to his boxers, and slid under the covers. Mike stirred and mumbled, and Johnny snuggled into him, and was asleep before he even thought about trying to get that way.

**TBC**


	33. Visitors: Part III

**Chapter 33: Visitors, Part III**

  
  


Mike woke from his nap after about an hour and a half, feeling much more clear-headed. Johnny was snoring lightly beside him, which Mike attributed to the smoke inhalation, because he’d never heard him snore before. He dressed silently, and left the bedroom as quietly as possible.

Janet was in the kitchen, doing something at the stove.

“Mmm, smells good, Mom,” Mike said.

“Oh—good morning! Or afternoon, as the case may be. And thanks.”

“Grandma’s tomato sauce?” Mike asked, leaning over his mother’s shoulder, which wasn’t difficult, as she was ten inches shorter than he was.

“Got it in one,” said Janet. “I’m making lasagna tonight, and I made enough sauce to put some in the freezer for after I go.”

“Wow, thanks,” Mike said. He lifted the carafe from the coffee-maker, sniffed its contents, and promptly poured the remaining quarter of a pot down the drain.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. I guess I’m still getting tired really easily. I was kind of losing it before you two sent me off to bed. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Michael. And promise me, that while I’m here, if you need to lie down, or take a nap, that you’ll do it.”

“Okay. I will,” Mike said. “Between you and Johnny, I don’t have much of a chance, anyhow.”

Janet tasted the sauce, and added some seasonings from Mike’s spice rack.

“I like him,” she said, stirring the sauce. “He’s honest and straightforward. And he obviously cares a great deal about you.”

Mike was glad his mother still had his back to him at the stove, because he got a bit of a tear in his eye. Lack of eye contact, though, couldn’t disguise the huskiness in Mike’s voice as he replied.

“Thanks. Yeah. He’s … he’s really great. I’d known him for a long time, you know, at work, but … I didn’t really understand him until I started visiting him at Rampart after his accident,” Mike said. He cleared his throat, and continued. “At work, he kind of wears his heart on his sleeve, which makes him an easy target in a lot of ways, and he also can’t ever stop planning and scheming. But on his own—he’s quiet, and thoughtful, and smart, and … a lot of things.”

“I can see that,” Janet said.

Mike was pretty sure that Janet kept her back turned, pretending to need to pay attention to the spaghetti sauce, to make the conversation easier for both of them. Emotions weren’t easy for the Stokers.

“And he … makes things easier for me. I don’t quite know how. I don’t like the game of comparing him to Larry, but Larry somehow had a knack for making things harder for me. Like, he knew what my buttons were, and he couldn’t stop pushing them. Couldn’t stop pushing, period. I guess I should’ve figured out sooner than I did that he wanted me to be someone I wasn’t, but wasn’t willing to help make things easier for me. I don’t really know what I’m saying. I guess I just mean I should’ve realized earlier that we weren’t well suited. Or maybe I knew it, but I was too afraid to do anything about it … I don’t know. But Johnny—he makes things easier, instead of harder.”

“Like maybe the thing with the vacuuming this morning?” Janet asked.

“Exactly. Larry would’ve just complained about how compulsive I was, and gotten irritated, which would’ve made me get more compulsive. But Johnny knew I needed to stop, and just … got me to stop,” Mike said. “I’m still not quite sure how.”

Janet finally turned around. “It’s because you trust him, Michael. That’s how.”

Mike smiled, ever so slightly. “It always seems to come back to that.”

“Oh?”

Mike shook his head, still smiling. “It’s just that … trust is one of the things we talked about first, when we first started, uh, dating. I hate that word. But neither of us trusts easily. That’s one of the big things we have in common. So it’s … important.”

“It is,” Janet said. “In any relationship. I don’t think you can really love, unless you trust. You can desire, and admire, and want to know everything about someone, but unless you trust each other, it’s a doomed relationship.”

Mike nodded, very slightly. “I think you’re right. And I think I didn’t know that until recently.”

Mike heard the bedroom door open, and the bathroom door close.

“He’s very good looking, too,” Janet said, her eyes twinkling as she watched Mike blush furiously. “Tall, dark, and handsome.”

“Mom!” Mike hissed. “Geez!”

Janet patted his arm. “Sorry if I embarrassed you, dear. But you have to admit that it’s true.”

“Okay, okay! Yes, I’ve noticed! Sheesh!”

Mike’s blush wasn’t yet beginning to fade when the water stopped running in the bathroom, and Johnny emerged from the short hallway. He stopped short when he saw Mike’s bright red face.

He couldn’t help himself.

He leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and smirked at Mike.

“Weeeeeell, it looks like maybe I missed a round of the ‘Embarrass Mikey’ show,” he said, grinning widely at Mike, who scowled back at him. “C’mon, Mikey—fess up. What’d I miss?”

“Oh, nothing special,” Janet answered. “Though I promise you some gems before I leave.”

“Excellent,” Johnny said, rubbing his hands together in glee.

“That’s it! I’m moving out,” Mike said. “I’ll go start packing. I’ll stay with … Chet. That’ll be peaceful.”

“But dear, you’re the only one who actually lives here. Now be reasonable,” Janet said.

“Plus, if you leave now, you’ll miss whatever’s on the stove, which smells great,” Johnny added. “Anyhow, we all know perfectly well you’re not going anywhere. Besides, you’re not allowed to drive yet. And I’m not taking you to Chet’s. How about you, Janet?”

Janet shook her head. “Looks like you’re stuck with us, Michael. Now lighten up. And you two boys go on and sit down at the table. I’ve got lunch all made; I’ll bring it right in.” She shooed Mike and Johnny out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

“You’re stuck with me for sure,” Johnny said, as he hugged Mike around his still-crossed arms and kissed him on the cheek. “And I just love that scowl that’s special for me.”

“You’re pushing it, Gage,” Mike growled, but both the scowl and the blush were notably absent from his face.

“I know, I really am,” Johnny said, as he smoothed a lock of Mike’s hair off his forehead. “But you look like you’re feeling better.”

Mike sighed. “Yeah, for the next hour, maybe. I was pretty discouraged this morning how fast I got tired. Call me crazy, but I’m almost hoping the doc will keep me off work for a little while yet. I mean, I can’t do a twenty-four hour shift if I can’t make it four hours without needing a nap.”

“It’s not crazy to slow down and take care of yourself,” Johnny said.

“I know, I know. I just don’t want the doctor to think I’m malingering.”

“I don’t think he’s the type,” Johnny said, “from what I saw at Rampart. And believe me, I’ve seen docs who think any fireman who walks into their office is just tryin’ to get paid for stayin’ home.”

“I want to go to work. I just don’t think I can. And I’ll feel like a jerk saying that,” Mike said, rubbing his neck.

“He saw you in the hospital, Mikey. He’ll know you’re not faking it. And, speaking of not faking it, I think you need another dose of something.”

“I already took it,” Mike snapped.

Johnny backed off, hands up in a submissive posture. “All right, all right! I was just noticing you looked like you had a headache, is all.”

“Sorry,” Mike said. “Sorry. I didn’t need to bite your head off. I took Tylenol as soon as I got up. Fifteen minutes ago. It probably just hasn’t kicked in yet.” He laid his forehead on the table. “God, I’m a wreck. I can’t think straight, and I blow up at the slightest thing, and this headache is killing me.”

“I bet,” Johnny said, rubbing the back of Mike’s neck, “that if you say those very things to the doc, he’ll get it.”

“Yeah. Okay, you’re right. I’ll see what happens.”

Janet returned with plates of cold cuts, and a loaf of bread. She returned to the kitchen and brought out a fruit salad, plus lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and condiments for the sandwiches.

“Boys, what would you like to drink?” she asked.

“Oh—I’ll get it,” Johnny said, starting to stand up.

With one hand on her hip, Janet pointed sternly at Johnny. “Absolutely not. Michael, what does he want to drink?”

“He’d like milk, please,” Mike said, “and I’ll have water, no ice. Thanks, Mom.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said, pretending to cower.

Janet laughed, and went back to the kitchen.

“I bet you didn’t get to misbehave much,” Johnny joked.

“He never tried, much,” Janet said, as she returned with the beverages.

“But he must’ve, sometimes, right?” Johnny probed, as he grabbed some bread and started putting a sandwich together.

Mike sighed. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. How about the time when I was like five, and I trashed the bathroom playing fireman?”

Johnny drummed on the table, unable to suppress his glee. “Whoo-hoo! Let’s hear it!”

Janet smiled, and Johnny suddenly saw how much Mike looked like her, as she began her story.

“Well, my brother, who was a firefighter, was staying with us for the weekend. And of course he told Michael all sorts of stories. After I put Michael—who was not quite four, by the way—to bed, he decided to act some of the stories out. He knew better than to set any actual fires, but he turned the bathroom into a disaster zone, while the adults and the older children were downstairs. The first we noticed of it was when water dripped through the ceiling, right onto Chuck’s head.”

“Excellent!” Johnny said. “Did you get in really big trouble?”

“Uh … I don’t actually remember,” Mike said. “Mom?”

Janet laughed. “The funny thing is, I don’t actually remember, either. Your father was furious—but the rest of us just had to try really hard not to laugh. Until the plumbers took a week to fix the bathroom, though. Then nobody was laughing.”

“Good story,” Johnny said. “Any other good Little Mikey tales?”

“Well …” Janet thought as she served herself some fruit salad. “Ah—Michael’s first swear word. He was three, and it was totally Chuck’s fault. We were having some doors replaced, and the contractors left one of the old doors behind. The guy swore up and down he was going to pick the thing up by the end of one particular week, and that Friday, Chuck and Michael and I all came home at the same time, and Chuck ran to see if the door was gone. It wasn’t, and he bellowed out something about how the damned door was still there. So naturally, Michael thought ‘damned door’ was some interesting new kind of door, and he asked, ‘Dad, what’s a damned door?’”

Johnny tittered. “Then what?”

“Chuck tried to play it down, but Michael was having none of it, of course. He really, really needed to know what it meant. Finally, Chuck said something like ‘a damned door is the kind we were getting rid of, and replacing with the new kind.’”

“Uh-oh,” Johnny said. “I can see where this is going.”

Janet nodded. “Yep. The next day at nursery school, Michael proudly announced that the workers had taken out the damned doors, and put in new doors, that weren’t damned doors.”

“I _do_ remember _that_ one,” Mike said. “I had to sit in the corner for the whole morning, and I had no idea why.”

“Chuck was going to wash his mouth out with soap, but then Michael’s sister, who was about fourteen then, helpfully pointed out that ‘Dad said it first.’ So that was that,” Janet said.

“I’ll have to thank her sometime,” Mike said. He piled his plate with fruit salad, next to the turkey sandwich he’d made. “ _Anyhow_. Can we be done with the stories, _please_?”

“Yes, dear,” Janet said. “Thank you for being a good sport.”

“I’ll try to think of some embarrassing stories about myself,” Johnny said. “It’s only fair.”

“Do you have family nearby, John?” Janet asked.

Johnny shook his head, and chewed and swallowed the gargantuan bite of sandwich he’d just taken. “Nope. My mom died when I was a teenager, and my dad doesn’t live around here. We don’t talk much, anyhow.”

“I’m sorry,” Janet said. She knew not to press the issue; not to ask any more questions about Johnny’s father.

“I’m curious,” Mike said to Janet. “Did Dad say anything about the talk he and I had last time I was at your place?”

Janet nodded. “He did, in fact. I was very pleased to hear that he was finally listening to something you had to say.”

“I think maybe he’s starting to get it—at least a little—that my … life isn’t a choice. Especially not a choice I made just to piss him off, or rebel. That I am who I am; and sure, everyone makes choices in life, but that the thing that really bothers him most isn’t something I chose.”

“I think you’re right, Michael. I really do,” Janet said. “And nothing would make me happier than to see you and your father be on really good terms. But I know a lot of that is up to him. I really think you’re doing everything you can. What he told me about your conversation—it just sounded perfect. You’ve always been so thoughtful about what you say, and how you say it.”

“Yeah,” Mike said glumly. “Unless I’ve gotten a huge whack on the head. Then anything and everything pours right out of my pie hole.”

“Aw, you’re doin’ fine, Mikey. I know how hard it is to be patient. B’lieve me, I sure do know. But just think—yesterday at this time, we were both passed out cold at my place, tired out just from getting from Rampart to my apartment,” Johnny reminded him. “And today we made it, what, four hours, until we needed to crash?”

“True,” Mike said. “Okay. I’ll try to be patient. I really will.”

“Attaboy.”

After lunch, Janet cleaned up, and then all three of them played cards for a while, until it was time for an afternoon nap.

“Mom, you know, nobody’s actually using the guest room, so if you want to rest too, it’s all yours,” Mike said.

“I may just do that,” Janet said. “In any case—dinner will be at about six thirty.”

“Great, Janet,” Johnny said. “Thanks a lot. It’s really great having all this help.”

“You’re very welcome,” Janet said. “You two have a good rest.”

~!~!~!~

At six fifteen, there was a tap on the bedroom door.

“Michael? Dinner’s just about ready,” Janet’s voice said from the hallway.

“Okay, Mom,” Mike said sleepily. He reached over to wake Johnny, but found he was alone in the bed. “Mmmf,” he groaned, as he sat up. He was annoyed at himself for sleeping for half the afternoon, but realized as soon as he stood up that he actually wasn’t dizzy. He hadn’t realized it, but there had still been a hint of dizziness, just enough to make him feel slightly seasick, ever since leaving Rampart. Mike experimented, turning his head sharply to the left, then to the right, and then nodding quickly. It all felt perfectly normal.

He pulled his shirt and pants back on, and went out to the main area of the house.

“Hey, guess what?” he said.

“What’s up, babe?” Johnny asked.

“I’m not dizzy anymore! I thought it was gone, but I think it was still there—just a little—until just now. Watch!” Mike nodded and shook his head, touched his toes, and spun around. “See? And I don’t feel like I’m gonna fall over!”

“That’s great,” Johnny said. “But be careful. Listen to your head, right?”

“I will,” Mike said. “I mean, I’ll try. I didn’t even realize I was actually still dizzy. Maybe the headache won’t be as bad, either.”

“Last time I got concussed, the dizziness lasted longer than the headache,” Johnny said.

“Last time you got concussed, you were also on IV morphine for a compound fracture,” Mike reminded him. “So I wouldn’t use that as an example.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Johnny said, scratching his head. “Anyhow—your mom’s letting us set the table.”

“We must be making progress,” Mike said, “if she’s giving us a chore.”

Johnny set out the plates and napkins, and Mike laid out the silverware.

“How long have you been up, anyhow?” Mike asked.

“A while. Had a great chat with your mom.”

“I’m glad you’re getting along. I thought you would.”

“Think I’ll ever get to meet your dad?”

Mike put down the last fork. “I don’t know. I’m not letting him anywhere near you until he’s proven to me that he can be not just civil, but nice. Polite ain’t gonna cut it.” He sighed, and continued. “The funny thing is, you guys would probably get along great if …”

“If I weren’t sleeping with his son?” Johnny suggested.

“Yeah. That,” Mike said flatly.

“But that,” Johnny whispered in Mike’s ear, “is my favorite thing on the planet. So he’s definitely gonna hafta get over it.”

Mike swatted Johnny playfully. “You’re bad, you know that?”

Johnny nodded, grinning. “With a capital ‘B.’”

“Hot food, coming through!” Janet said, as she brought the lasagna pan to the table.

“Wow, Janet, that smells even better close up!” Johnny said. “Mike, you gotta get her recipe, and make this at the station sometime.”

“Or,” Mike said, “ _you_ could get her recipe, and make it at the station sometime. I’m sure the guys would appreciate it.”

“Har de har har,” Johnny said. “But sure, I could do that.”

“Michael said you were … an interesting cook,” Janet said, when she returned with the vegetables.

“Ah. Yeah. Either too interesting or too boring. No middle ground.”

Johnny thought it was only fair that he got some ribbing after the stories from Mike’s childhood, so he let Mike tell his mother about all the weirdest Gage kitchen concoctions. Janet laughed heartily at Mike’s description of Johnny making “Uncle Johnny’s Grilled Thanksgiving” sandwiches, but then said that she would try it when she got home.

When dinner was over, Janet insisted on cleaning up, and sent Mike and Johnny into the living room to watch TV. After twenty minutes or so, she emerged from the kitchen.

“Well, I think if there’s nothing else I can do for you two tonight, I’ll head back to the motel. What time could I come back in the morning?” Janet asked.

Mike stood up from his spot on the couch. “Gee, I dunno. Don’t get up too early, okay? I mean, come over whenever you’re up and about. We’ll probably be up early, and we can certainly manage breakfast.”

“Would nine be too early?” Janet asked, as she folded her apron and put it in her bag, along with the crossword book.

“That’d be fine. We’ll definitely be up showered and everything well before that,” Mike said.

“All right. Nine it is, then. You boys have a good night.”

Mike hugged his mother gently. “Thanks, Mom. And thanks for all your help today. It really makes a difference, not having to think about the basics.”

Johnny, by this point, had also stood up. “Yeah, Janet; thanks a ton. I think we’re both feeling better hour by hour, thanks to you.”

“You’re welcome. And don’t think you’re getting away without a hug,” Janet said to Johnny.

Johnny bent down and allowed himself to be hugged, blushing slightly.

“Good night, then,” Janet said.

“G’night,” Johnny said, as Mike walked his mother to her car.

Once Mike was back inside, and the door was closed, Johnny let out a huge sigh. “Whew,” he said. “Now that was somethin’.”

Mike joined him on the sofa, frowning slightly. “Oh? You didn’t seem stressed out, or anything. And I thought you two were getting along fine. Did I miss something?”

“No, no!” Johnny said, lying back onto Mike’s lap. “Not at all! It’s just … weird for me, you know. The whole family thing. I haven’t really been around family since high school. I mean, Roy and Joanne, sure, but they’re not, like … parents.”

“Hmm,” Mike said. “Yeah, my mother’s nothing if not motherly. And …”

“And what?” Johnny asked.

“Well, she was never that way with Larry. So seeing her be motherly to you? That really means something to me. Not just that she likes you—I knew she’d like you. But that … I dunno. That she’s comfortable. With me. With us. You know?” Mike stroked Johnny’s thick hair as he spoke, and Johnny leaned into his touch like a cat.

“Uh huh,” Johnny said. “It’s nice, actually.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, both silently processing the day.

Johnny’s mind took a turn to another subject, and after a little while he had to comment on it. But first he had to sit up, because he didn’t really think he could have this discussion while lounging on Mike the way he was.

“Do you think I oughta go in and talk to Cap tomorrow, or should I write him a letter, or should I talk to him later, or what?”

“Whoa,” Mike said. “What made you think of _that_ all of a sudden?”

“I dunno,” Johnny said. “Guess the topic was just looming.”

“Hmm. If you really want to know what I think—”

“I wouldn’t’a asked if I didn’t want to know,” Johnny said, scowling, and crossing his arms on his chest.

“Geez. Bite my head off next time, will ya?” Mike complained, looking askance at Johnny.

Johnny rubbed his brow. “Sorry. I guess the day is kinda catching up to me. Good stress is still stress, ya know? But anyhow—seriously, what do you think?”

“I think,” Mike said slowly, “that the sooner we’re not working together, the better, for everyone’s sake.”

Johnny sighed. “That’s what I was afraid you’d say. So okay. I’ll go in tomorrow—gotta pick up the Rover anyhow. And … I’ll just lay it all out.”

“Uh …”

“Well, not _all_ of it, of course. I mean, not the _real_ reason. But the general thing. You know. About it being too hard to work on my buddies.”

Mike sighed, putting Johnny’s earlier sigh to shame.

“Gage. I think you better practice. I’ll go sit on the chair, and I’ll be Cap. Tell me what you’re gonna tell him. Because I can totally see you getting all tongue-tied, and flustered, just like you were afraid was gonna happen with my mom, but it didn’t. And I won’t be there to wallop you if you freeze. So even though I know you think role-play is dumb, I think you oughta do it,” Mike said, looking at Johnny seriously the entire time.

Johnny stared back at him, and burst out laughing.

Mike scowled back at him. “What now?”

“Sorry,” Johnny said, once he got himself under control. “You just … know me. You’re right, that I’ll get stupid, and you’re right that I think it’s dumb, but you’re also right that I oughta figure out what I’m gonna say. So okay. I’ll play along. Go on, go sit on the chair,” Johnny said, pointing to the chair most recently occupied by Janet Stoker.

Mike sat on the chair and looked at Johnny.

“So, Gage; what did you want to talk about?” Mike said, doing his best to imitate Captain Stanley’s voice.

Johnny laughed again. “You can’t do that; I’ll just laugh.”

Mike slapped his hands on his knees, looking like he was about to stand up, but then settled down and shook his head. “Jesus, Johnny. Just … you’re stalling. Just do it.”

“All right, all right.” Johnny cleared his throat. “You see, Cap, the other day, when Mike went down, that was … hard. I mean, it’s hard to treat my buddies. And maybe it’s not such a good idea. I mean, you saw how rattled I was. So what I’m saying is, I think I oughta transfer. For everyone’s sake.” Johnny leaned back, and raised his eyebrows. “How was that?”

Mike shook his head. “Try again. That was kind of … unconvincing. Not strong enough.”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah, I guess that was kinda wimpy. Okay. Uh, how about this.” He cracked his knuckles, making Mike wince, and sat forward on the sofa, looking Mike in the eye.

“You see, Cap, I kinda realized something the other day. All you guys, everyone on the shift—you’re my family. You guys … you’re all I have. And the other day, when Mike went down, that was … really hard. I coulda really blown it, Cap, I was that shook up. So I think for everyone’s sake, I oughta transfer out.”

Mike nodded slowly. “Yeah. You even got pale when you said how it was hard to see me go down. I think you’ll convince him, if you can deliver it like that.”

Johnny blew out a breath, and rubbed his forehead. “I wasn’t acting.”

“I know,” Mike said, rejoining Johnny on the couch. He snuck an arm behind Johnny, and hugged him sideways. “I know you weren’t. It was exactly right, though.”

“It’s about as close as I can get to the real reason I need to transfer, without getting to the real reason,” Johnny said, leaning in to Mike, letting the warmth of his body chase away the chill he felt from thinking about the incident.

“I think he’ll understand,” Mike said. “I think it’ll work.”

“Yeah.” Johnny tucked his feet under him, and tried to get closer to Mike.

“You cold?” Mike said. “You shivered, just then.”

“Don’t like thinking about the other day,” Johnny muttered, not looking up.

“Let’s not think about it,” Mike said, squirming gracelessly to adjust his position on the couch so he could enfold Johnny completely. “Let’s not think about anything. No more thinking.”

“Mmm,” Johnny said, burying his face in Mike’s chest. “Sounds good.” He breathed in slowly and deeply, inhaling the clean scent, noting the distinct fragrances of Mike’s laundry detergent, soap, and deodorant; familiar, comforting. He turned slightly so he could pull Mike down with him, and was even more comforted by the weight and heat of his lover’s body pressing down on his own. He felt the tempo of Mike’s breathing pick up as their bodies curved into each other, and lifted his face to look up at Mike’s.

Mike’s eyes shone back down at him, and for the first time since the fire that landed them both at Rampart, Johnny saw that Mike’s eyes looked calm. No jittering, none of the back-and-forth movements brought on by the concussion. Just clear pools of calm blue, waiting for him to dive in.

So he did, and, as Mike had suggested, thinking was done for the day.

**TBC**


	34. Denied

**Chapter 34: Denied**

Janet Stoker finished her coffee at the motel’s free “continental breakfast bar,” and cleared her table. She put the shopping list she’d made in her pocketbook, and went out to the car for the short trip to her son’s house. She smiled as she realized that she was looking forward to seeing her son, just as she always did, but that she was mostly looking forward to seeing him happier than she could recall his being since he was a child. Life hadn’t paved easy highways for her younger son, and her husband’s rejection of their son had roughened up the already rocky roads Michael traveled.

She stopped at the grocery store she’d been to the previous day, and picked up the few things she needed for today’s meals. She saw a display of extremely ripe peaches, and added a bag of them as well as all the other ingredients for a peach upside-down cake. She didn’t really know John’s food preferences, but she suspected he’d eat just about anything. Just before heading to the check-out line, she recalled the vast quantities of milk that had been disappearing, and returned to the dairy case to pick up a new gallon.

At Michael’s door, she rang the bell, not quite comfortable using her borrowed key when she knew the boys would be up and about.

Johnny flung the door open.

“Mornin’ mornin’ mornin’!” he said, ushering her in. “Here, lemme get that.” He took the brown paper grocery bag from her, and went into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Janet said.

“Mikey’s just getting dressed,” Johnny said, putting things in the fridge. “How was your night? That motel okay?”

“Oh, just fine,” Janet said. “One of the people on the hall was a bit noisy, but they settled down soon enough that it wasn’t a problem.”

“Good,” Johnny said. “Mmm, whipping cream—what’s that gonna be for?”

“Peach upside-down cake,” Janet said. “And I picked this up too,” she added, handing him the gallon jug of milk.

“Ah, you’ve got my number,” Johnny said. “Hey—I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”

“Of course,” Janet said.

“My car is still down at the station, and I have to get down there anyhow to talk to our captain. Could you drop me down there sometime today?”

“Certainly,” Janet said. “No problem at all.”

“Thanks a lot,” Johnny said. “It’ll be a tough thing, telling Cap I need to transfer. And I don’t love the idea that I’m not telling him the whole truth, because I like to be an honest guy.”

“That’s a hard situation,” Janet said. “That never really occurred to me—that you _can’t_ always tell the truth.”

Johnny nodded. “Drives Mike crazy.”

“I suppose,” Janet said, frowning thoughtfully, “that I didn’t ever think of that problem, because everything about my life is conventional and accepted. I don’t _have_ to avoid the total truth. I have the luxury of my life being accepted. I don’t have to make the choice between the truth, and acceptability.” She looked Johnny in the eye. “And you and Michael do. I wish it were different for you, and I’m sorry.”

“Aw, it’s not your fault,” Johnny said.

“Well,” Janet said slowly, “it’s the fault of society, then. And it _is_ my fault if I don’t do anything to make life easier for my son. And you.”

“You already are,” Johnny said, “by accepting us.”

“But what I’m done with,” Janet said, “is letting Chuck get away with his behavior towards Michael. Because that’s wrong. And it’s his fault.”

Johnny couldn’t think of anything to say that would be appropriate, so for once in his life he just didn’t say anything.

Janet sighed. “I did it again—dragging you into our family’s ugliness. But I do think Chuck is making progress. We’ll see.”

Mike emerged from the bedroom at that moment, and looked back and forth between his mother and Johnny.

“Uh, good morning?” Mike said. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothin’ much,” Johnny said. “Uh, your mom’s gonna take me down to the station, so I can get the Rover, and have that chat with Cap’n Stanley.”

“Oh,” Mike said. “Great. But—is something wrong?”

“No,” Johnny said. “Just talkin’ about life, an’ stuff.”

“Ah,” Mike said dryly. “Stuff. I see. By which you mean, Dad.”

“Only a little bit, Michael.” Janet pointedly didn’t say any more, and Mike didn’t press.

“Anyhow,” Johnny said.

“Anyhow,” Mike concluded.

“When would you like to go to the station, John?” Janet asked, breaking the tension.

“Oh, any time would be fine,” Johnny said. “Mike, you wanna come too? Maybe show your mom around the station while I’m talkin’ with Cap?”

Mike brightened. “Sure—that’s a good idea! How about if we go soon?”

“Sure,” Johnny said.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them piled into Janet’s sedan, and she drove them down to Station 51. The squad was out on a run, but Chet and Marco greeted them in the day room.

“Hey! It’s the entire injured list!” Chet said. “How are you two doing?”

“Better,” Mike said. “A little better each day. I still have a pounding headache, but I’m not dizzy anymore. And guys, this is my mother. Mom, this is Chet Kelly, and Marco Lopez.”

Chet and Marco greeted Janet politely.

“Sure is nice of you to come out and look out for Sto—uh, Mike, and even Johnny. They both looked pretty awful last time we saw ‘em, but it looks like you’ve cleaned them up nicely.”

“Ha ha, Chet,” Johnny said. “But yeah, it sure is great when you’re down to have someone watching out for ya.”

Marco looked Johnny up and down. “So how are you, Gage? Last we heard, you were busy coughing up a lung at Rampart.”

“Oh, not too bad. Pretty sure both lungs are still there. Still coughing a lot, but it’s a little better each day,” Johnny said. “And say—where’s Cap? I actually have to talk with him about something.”

“Oh—he’s out in the bay with Stoker’s sub,” Chet said. “They’re just goin’ over a coupla things.”

“Huh,” Johnny said. “All right. I guess I’ll go out there.” He coughed hard, for several seconds.

“Geez,” Chet said to Marco. “I guess Roy wasn’t kidding.”

“Yeah, that sounds terrible,” Marco said.

“Ah, put a lid on it,” Johnny grumbled. “I’m gonna go see Cap.” He stomped out to the apparatus bay.

“Mom, you come out too—I’ll show you my pride and joy,” Mike said.

“Of course,” Janet said. “I was hoping you would.”

Johnny found Cap and an unfamiliar fireman standing at Big Red’s pump panel. He cleared his throat. “Uh, Cap?”

Cap turned to see how someone who wasn’t there could be talking to him.

“Gage? Well! How are you, pal?”

“Oh, not too shabby,” Johnny said. He did his best not to cough, in the exhaust-laden air of the bay, but couldn’t help it. “Uh, except for that.”

“So I hear,” Cap said. “What brings you here, anyhow? You’re supposed to be resting—you and Stoker both.”

“Oh, he’s here too. His mom brought me down, and he tagged along to show her around as long as he was here. While I was talking to you,” Johnny said.

“I see,” Cap said. “Well, maybe we should go talk, then.” He turned to the mystified sub. “Excuse us, Ramos.” The fellow nodded, as Cap and Johnny retreated to the office.

Cap closed the door, which he only did when he was talking one-to-one with one of his men.

“Have a seat, Gage. I have to say, I’m at a loss as to what would bring you down here when you’re on sick leave, and obviously in pretty sad shape, too.”

Johnny coughed, and suddenly felt as miserable as Cap thought he looked.

“All right. I guess the best way to say this is to just say it. I need to ask for a transfer,” Johnny said, coughing again.

Cap sat back in his chair, frowning as he stretched his long legs out under his desk.

“Why’s that, John? You know I can’t just give transfers without a reason. And to be honest, I can’t see what the reason would be, unless there’s something going on between you and one of the other guys that I don’t know about.”

 _That pretty much sums it up_ , Johnny thought. “No, there’s no problems between me and any of the other guys. Nothing like that,” he said.

“Then what, Gage? I’m mystified.” Cap’s bushy eyebrows knitted themselves together, like a crazy caterpillar making its way across his forehead.

Johnny recalled the speech he’d practiced with Mike the night before, and hoped like crazy that the tones wouldn’t drop while he was in the middle of his explanation.

“See, here’s the thing. You know I feel like all you guys on the shift are family, right?” Johnny said, hoping the thumping in his chest didn’t show.

“Of course—we all watch out for each other,” Cap said.

“But the thing is, Cap, on Thursday, when Stoker went down, it was … too much. It was too hard, working on one of my family. I was really rattled, Cap. I could’ve screwed up—I almost did. So for everyone’s sake, I think I oughta transfer out. Because it was just … it wasn’t a good idea. It can’t happen again,” Johnny said.

Cap waited to make sure Johnny was done talking, and let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Does Roy know about this?” he asked finally.

“Yeah,” Johnny said miserably. “We talked about it. He’s on board—knows it’s nothing personal.”

Cap looked at Johnny for a long time, and Johnny started to get worried that his explanation, which had seemed simple, straightforward, and persuasive when it was just him and Mike talking it out, wasn’t going to work.

“John, I understand what you’re saying. I really do. There’s nothing worse in this job than seeing one of our buddies getting hurt, or worse. But the reality is, it’s part of the job. If you were to transfer to another station, sure, for the first few shifts, the guys would be strangers, but then after a while, you’d have the same problem.” Cap leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together, suddenly reminding Johnny of Sherlock Holmes.

“I wouldn’t be doing anyone a favor by granting this request, John. Especially not so soon after a difficult incident.”

Johnny felt panicky. His plan was failing, but he couldn’t tell the truth, because that would be even worse. “But—but Cap …”

“Let me finish, John. The other thing is, you and Roy have something special. You know there are still some doubts out there—doubts that the paramedic program is a good idea. And the fact of the matter is, the brass have said they don’t want to split up paramedic teams that work well together, unless there’s a compelling reason to do so. So I’m afraid I really can’t grant your request, unless there’s something you’re not telling me, that you’d like to add.”

Johnny felt frozen, like a mouse that knew the owl was above him, and was trying to become invisible. He slumped down in his chair, putting his head in his hands.

“Cap—I, uh … I really wish you’d reconsider,” he said. “Because the other day—I can’t do that again. I just can’t.”

Cap sighed. “John, let me tell you a story. Believe it or not, I was once your age. Younger, even. One of my first postings was at Station 30—headquarters for Battalion 9, so it’s a big station. My third year there, we were on a first alarm assignment for a major structure fire—an old apartment building that was a total fire trap. It’d been subdivided a million times, and nobody knew how many civilians were still inside, or where. Anyhow, to make a long story short, my partner and I got trapped when a ceiling fell in on us. I was fine, but Wolfe—that was my partner—he got hit by a beam, and was hurt pretty bad. It took ten minutes to get us out of there, and most of that time, I was trying to free him, which I couldn’t do by myself. I’ll never forget that helpless feeling—that my buddy was depending on me, but I wasn’t able to help him.

“We both made it out—he ended up losing the use of an arm, and had to retire from the department. He’s got his own business now, but that’s beside the point. The point is, I tried to transfer out after that, and my captain said no, for the same reasons I’m saying no now. It’s a harsh fact of our jobs that we end up in situations where someone who’s like family to us is in big trouble.”

Cap studied Johnny, who had managed to unbury his head from his hands to hear Cap’s story. Johnny stared back, but didn’t say anything.

“Now, I know it’s not the same as being a paramedic—I can’t speak from experience, there. But the feeling of helplessness when one of our buddies is in trouble? I’m afraid that’s part of the job. Probably one of the hardest parts. And I’m more than a little surprised that this is coming up now, at this particular moment,” Cap said. “It’s not like this is the first time that someone on our shift has gotten hurt.”

Johnny knew he still had the deer-in-the-headlights look, and tried his best to snap out of it, but he just couldn’t.

Cap frowned slightly at him. “Say, are you okay? This isn’t like you—I’d expect you to be arguing up a storm at this point.”

Johnny opened and closed his mouth, realizing he’d progressed from mouse, to deer, to fish. Finally, he forced himself to speak.

“I … but … it’s …”

“That’s it, John— _that’s_ more like you.”

The block finally disappeared, and the words gushed out. “Cap, you don’t understand! I can’t! I can’t do it again! I mean, the department doesn’t allow family members to work together. So if I’m sayin’ you guys are like my family, then shouldn’t you _have_ to allow me to transfer?”

Johnny was dismayed to see that Cap looked relieved.

“John, pal, regardless of what the brass has to say on the topic, I just don’t think it’ll solve anything for you to move on. Plus, let’s talk for a minute about what it’d be like for the rest of the guys to have you leave. Except for me being a year behind the rest of you, it’s been, what—five years, almost, that we’ve all been together?” Cap said.

Johnny nodded glumly.

“Now, I know you said Roy understands your reasoning, but both of you are unhappy when you’re working with other partners. Chet and Marco and I would miss you, true, but I think we’d survive. But the one I think would really be hit hard is Stoker. I don’t think the other guys pay attention as much as I do, but ever since you two became good friends, he’s been almost a different man. He talks more than he ever did, which is pretty noticeable, but he’s also calmer and happier, which I’m sure the others haven’t really noticed.”

Johnny sighed. “Cap, he knows I’m asking for a transfer. He’s cool with it. In fact, he was worried I put my health on the line to work on him, even though I kinda shoulda been a patient myself.”

“And that, my friend, is a discussion we need to have another time. Suffice it to say, I was there when you were working on Stoker, remember? And I did notice you weren’t at the top of your game, but I figure that’s because you were sicker than you were letting on. But the fact of the matter is, you and Roy had another critical patient, and then Mike went down, so there just wasn’t a choice. You would’ve been with one patient or another, until another squad could get there,” Cap said.

“I _know_ all that, Cap. And _that’s_ what I’m tryin’ to _tell_ ya—that it really bothered me not to be on my A-game when I was working on Stoker!” Johnny’s voice was raised, and tremulous in its quality.

“Gage, you were sick as a dog! You were so pale you were practically going blue right in front of me! I’m no paramedic, but I do know that lack of oxygen in your bloodstream will make you stupid. So what I’m saying is I don’t think you can blame your discomfort with that incident entirely on your patient also being a good friend.”

Johnny stopped short at that. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that he was certainly hypoxic to some degree, and how that might have affected his judgment or emotions. He also knew he didn’t want to say anything with a shaking voice again, so he tried to breathe deeply, but was again seized by a fit of coughing.

“Lemme get you some water,” Cap said. He returned a moment later with a glass of water from the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Johnny croaked, and sipped the water.

“You’re welcome,” Cap said. “But John, I can’t grant the transfer. I can’t. And even if there were a tremendously compelling reason why you needed to go, I’d make you wait for a while anyhow. Like a waiting period, before you can get a firearm license.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, coughing again. “Okay, I get it.”

“John,” Cap said. “I don’t want you to think I’m dismissing what you’ve said to me. I’m not—not in the slightest. In fact,” he continued, rustling through a desk drawer, “now, where could that have gotten to? Ah—here it is!”

“Here what is?” Johnny asked.

“I can tell you’re really bothered by what happened. It’s not uncommon, when someone gets hurt on the job, for his shiftmates to have a tough time with it. There’s a therapist, who works for the department, who’s on call for things just like this,” Cap said, as he pushed the business card he’d fished out of his desk drawer across the table to Johnny. “I have it on good authority that this guy is excellent at what he does.”

Johnny examined the card, and saw the name he expected. He was prepared for what he saw on the card, so he was narrowly able to avoid laughing.

“Thanks, Cap, but that’s kind of not my style. Though I also hear Dr. Pritchard is good,” Johnny said.

Cap looked intently at Johnny. “It’s not really _any_ fireman’s style to go to a shrink. But you’ve got a problem, that sounds like it’s getting in the way of your work, or at least has the potential to. So how about this—since you’ve heard he’s good, why not give him a shot?”

Johnny shook his head, ever so slightly. “I dunno. I’ll think about it. Maybe talk it over—uh, I’ll think about it. That’s all I can promise.” He closed his remarks with a short bout of coughing.

Cap nodded. “All right. That’s all I can ask. And honestly, John, I don’t think I’d be doing anyone a favor by granting this transfer. So I’ll see you when you’re cleared to return—which if I’m remembering right was two weeks after the incident?”

“Yeah. Seemed like a long time when he said it, but now that I see how easy I get tired, and how much I’m still coughing, it kinda seems like the right thing to do. And Mike—he can only go a few hours without needing to rest,” Johnny said. “I think that concussion was pretty serious.”

“Well, I hope the doctors will let him stay home as long as he needs to,” Cap said. “And did I hear right that his mother is visiting, and you’re staying at his place, and she’s looking after both of you?”

“Yep. She’s a great lady, Cap. In fact, you should come out to meet her. Mike’s showing her around. She drove me down to pick up the Rover, since Mike’s not allowed to drive yet. I’m sure he’ll want to introduce you.”

“Sure thing,” Cap said. “And John—before we go, no hard feelings, right?”

“Of course not,” Johnny said. “I’ll figure out some way to deal, I guess.”

“All right. My door’s always open, you know. Come chat any time you need to. Or call me at home—that’s fine, too.”

“Thanks a lot, Cap. I appreciate it. I really do.”

The two men stood up, and left the office. Mike indeed wanted to introduce his mother to Captain Stanley. Johnny waited until there was a natural break in the conversation, and jumped in.

“Well, I guess I’m gonna head out. Mike, Janet, I’ll see you back at the ranch. Cap—I’ll keep you posted about what we talked about.”

“All right,” said Cap. “And like I said—call me any time. I know I didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear today, but if there’s anything I can do, or if you just want to talk, I’m here.”

Mike looked at Johnny in alarm, understanding that the transfer had likely been turned down. Johnny gave him a reassuring look.

“Thanks. See you soon.”

Johnny stopped in to chat with Chet and Marco briefly before getting his keys from his locker and hopping into the Rover. The engine turned over noisily, protesting a few days’ disuse, and ran choppily. Johnny decided to let the engine warm up before pulling out of the lot, so he started rummaging through his box of cassettes to find something he wanted to listen to on the drive back to Mike’s house.

A tap on the window made him jump. He turned sharply, and Mike was standing there, gesturing for him to roll the window down. Johnny turned the crank to lower the window.

“Did he say no?” Mike asked. “He did, didn’t he? Why in the world? I just don’t get it!”

“Whoa, whoa! Yeah, he said no, and there really wasn’t any way I could change his mind,” Johnny said.

“Did you use that second speech? The one about family?” Mike asked.

“Of course I did. But—aw, I oughta just explain when we get back home, okay? Instead of out here in the parking lot.”

Mike rubbed his temples, and Johnny thought he saw Mike’s hands shaking slightly.

“Okay,” Mike said. “Yeah. That makes sense. I’ll see you when we get back.”

“All right.” Johnny listened to the engine for a moment, and decided it was running normally. “Look. It’ll be okay. One way or another, it’ll be okay.”

“I’d love to say I believe that. But you’re right. This isn’t the place to talk about it. See you soon.”

They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, both hating not being able to have a natural departure. Mike spun on his heel, and returned to the apparatus bay. Johnny sighed, popped the Led Zeppelin cassette into the deck, and pulled out of the parking lot.

**TBC**

  
  


  
  



	35. Questions

**Chapter 35: Questions**

Back at Mike’s house, Johnny recounted his discussion with Captain Stanley, while Janet stayed out of the way, making lunch.

“And I guess I understand,” Johnny said glumly, after he’d told Mike of Cap’s opinion and verdict. “I mean, since he doesn’t—and can’t—know the whole story, it probably sounds exactly like the problem that hundreds of other guys have run into. So I see his point.”

Mike drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. 

“Yeah. I guess so,” he said. “Jesus. I mean, I get his point, but I still kind of can’t believe he turned you down. I thought it was gonna be a no-brainer. So now the question is, what the hell are we going to do?”

Neither one of them said anything for nearly a whole minute, until Johnny pulled something out of his pocket and started flipping it over between his fingers.

“What’s that?” Mike asked.

“Oh—you’ll get a kick outta this. Cap handed this to me at the end of our chat, and suggested I oughta go see this guy.” Johnny handed Dr. Pritchard’s business card to Mike, but was slightly taken aback when Mike looked at it and handed it back without the laughter Johnny was expecting.

“It’s not necessarily a bad idea,” Mike said.

“What? For me to … go to the shrink?” Johnny said. “No offense—I mean, it’s just not my style. To sit in a room and talk to some stranger about my problems. My childhood. Whatever.”

“Well,” Mike said slowly, “what if you came with me sometime? What if we limited the discussion just to the problem of us working together, and left everything else out of it?”

Johnny blinked, but didn’t answer yet.

“Actually, I don’t want you to answer me, yet,” Mike said. “Just think about it. He might be able to help us better with this problem if we’re both there, instead of just me. He actually asked me, at some point shortly before you came back to work, if I thought you’d want to come in with me sometime, and honestly, I just laughed. But now? I’m not laughing. Think about it, babe, okay?”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah. I’ll think about it. I mean, I’ve met the guy, now, and he seemed like a reasonable kind of guy. So I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. That’s all I’m asking,” Mike said. He put his knees on his elbows, and rested his forehead on the heels of his hands. “Man, I definitely need some bunk time after lunch.”

“Me too. In fact, I think I’ll close my eyes for a minute, right here,” Johnny said, yawning, which then set off a barrage of coughing.

“C’mere,” Mike said, as he squashed himself into the sofa to make room for Johnny to nestle up against him on the outside.

“Um …”

“Mom won’t mind. Though if you think it’s too weird, we—”

“Nah,” Johnny said, as he wriggled around, ending up balanced precariously on the edge of the couch. He felt more secure when Mike put an arm and a leg around him, and within fifteen seconds, they were both asleep.

~!~!~!~

Twenty minutes later, Janet emerged from the kitchen.

“Boys, lunch is almost—”

She stopped short, as she entered the living room and saw her son and his boyfriend entwined together on the couch, fast asleep. For a moment, she thought the scene looked all wrong—two men shouldn’t be snuggled up together like that. 

Except for a hand on the shoulder here and there, and other similar gestures, Michael and John hadn’t really been physically demonstrative in her presence. And not being one to think about such things, Janet pointedly didn’t try to imagine what might go on behind closed doors.

Or in this case, in the middle of the living room.

She sat down, in the chair across from the couch, and just looked for a minute. She thought about what her reaction would be if she found her older son and his wife lying together on the couch in their own home—it wouldn’t bother her at all. It was their living room; they could cuddle if they wanted to.

So Janet made the decision to view her younger son and his boyfriend in the same way. 

It was their—or rather, Michael’s—living room, and they could cuddle if they darned well wanted to. 

The leftover lasagna would still be another fifteen minutes in the oven. Janet wondered if she should retreat to the kitchen or the dining room, but then decided that if Michael and John had wanted privacy, they’d have taken a nap in the bedroom. She smiled as she realized she should be flattered by the fact that they were willing to snuggle up to each other in her presence. 

Janet quietly worked on her crossword puzzle, until the kitchen timer startled her out of her chair.

Michael was awakened by the ring of the timer, Janet saw, but John was still fast asleep.

“Lunch is ready,” Janet said quietly.

“Thanks,” Mike replied, in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’m kinda stuck here. Lemme wake him up, and we’ll be right in, okay?”

“Of course,” Janet said, leaving the room to give her son the privacy he was too polite to actually ask for.

Once his mother had left the room, Mike ran his hand—the one that wasn’t squashed between them—over Johnny’s back.

“Hey, babe; gotta wake up. Lunch is ready,” Mike said, still quietly.

“Hmmm?”

Mike patted Johnny’s back rather than stroking it. “Wake up, Johnny.”

“Mmm, don’ wanna,” Johnny mumbled into Mike’s neck. 

“My mom says lunch is ready,” Mike said. 

“Huh? Your mom? Oh, shit!” Johnny said, nearly falling off the couch as he struggled to sit up.

Mike managed to disentangle himself sufficiently from Johnny that neither one of them went crashing to the floor as they sat up. 

“Relax, don’t—we’re fine. She’s in the kitchen. And she’s cool, okay?” Mike said, answering both of Johnny’s unasked questions at once.

“Okay. Yeah.” Johnny coughed briefly. “I’m just not used to the idea of … people seein’ us. But I guess she’s not really people. She’s family.”

Mike smiled at that assessment. “Well put.”

~!~!~!~

Janet and Mike insisted that Johnny stay home and rest while Janet drove Mike to his appointment with the neurologist on Monday morning. He puttered around for a while, watering the plants and doing other chores. He sat out on the back deck, and inspected the lawn. It needed mowing like nobody’s business, but he was pretty sure he’d get a talking-to if Janet and Mike came home and found that the lawn had been mowed in their absence. 

It could wait.

The phone rang at around eleven, right when Mike’s appointment should’ve been over. Johnny answered, thinking it was probably Mike calling with a report.

“Mike Stoker’s residence,” he said.

“ _Hey, partner,_ ” Roy said. “ _How’re you doing?_ ”

“Better, Roy. Better. Thanks for asking. But I got some bad news yesterday from Cap. He said no. To the transfer, that is.”

“ _Yeah, I was wondering about that,_ ” Roy said. “ _Cap mentioned something to me later in the shift about how you’d been in to the station to talk to him, and did I think everything was all right with you. Why’d he turn you down?”_

Johnny told Roy about his conversation with Captain Stanley, having pretty much the same conversation he’d had with Mike the previous day. 

“ _I guess I see his point,_ ” Roy said. “ _But—let me know how I can help, okay? I know this isn’t easy_.”

Johnny sighed. “I guess it’s maybe a case of the grass being greener on the other side of the fence, ya know? I mean, I’d probably go nuts—we both probably would—worrying about the other guy if we weren’t working together.”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Roy said. “ _But that doesn’t make your current problem any easier._ ”

“And you know what’s funny?” Johnny said, seeing an opening for something he really didn’t want to bring up, but knew he should.

“ _What_?”

“At the end of our conversation, Cap handed me a card for the shrink guy up at HQ.” He didn’t, of course, mention that Mike had a long and positive history with the fellow. “And call me crazy—ha ha, right?—but I’m actually considering going.”

“ _I don’t see why you shouldn’t,_ ” Roy said. “ _I mean, nobody but you will know you went, and you never know—maybe he could help out. Plus, anything you say to him would be confidential._ ”

“I’m thinkin’ about it, Roy. I actually am,” Johnny said slowly. He heard a car pull up in the driveway, and recognized it as Janet’s sedan. “Hey, I gotta go—Mikey and his mom are back, and I wanna hear what his doc said. I really hope he gets another week or so off.”

“ _Let me know. And—before I sign off, is there anything you guys need a hand with? I mean, I know Mrs. Stoker is there, but …_ ”

“Well, now that you mention it, the lawn’s lookin’ really shaggy over here. Mike would kill me if I mowed it, and I’d kill him if he did.”

“ _I’ll come over. Maybe about four o’clock?_ ” Roy said. 

“Thanks, man,” Johnny said. “We’ll see you then. I owe you.”

“ _Don’t be ridiculous,_ ” Roy said, “ _and you’re welcome. See you then.”_

Johnny hung up just as the front door opened, and was surprised to see the car backing out of the driveway again.

“Hey, babe. What’s the verdict?” he asked, as Mike took his shoes off. “And where’s your mom going?”

“She’s going to get a few things at the store,” Mike said, “for a change. She said she was, quote, ‘tickled pink’ by how much food we’re going through.”

“And?” Johnny prodded.

Mike sat down with him on the couch, and sighed. “The rest of this week off, and then another follow-up next Monday just to be sure. I have mixed feelings about the whole thing, actually.”

“Why?” Johnny asked, rubbing Mike’s back. “I mean, it’s pretty clear you need some more time.”

“That’s just the thing,” Mike said. “That it’s pretty clear I need more time. I mean, I know I still get tired out easily. I thought I was thinking straighter, but the doc did some more of those tests today and honestly, things that I thought should’ve been easy were hard. Or, I constantly found my mind drifting off on some tangent. So that’s pretty discouraging.”

“Well,” Johnny said slowly, “you know, it’s only been less than four days since you got that concussion. So honestly, I think you’re doin’ okay for this point. From my experience with gettin’ knocked around, at least.”

“I guess. But hey, at least we’re both here, right? Nobody’s still at Rampart, or worse. And, well, we’re here together,” Mike said. He rubbed his eyes, and continued. “I’m getting all maudlin and sappy again, so I guess it’s time for a nap. You need to crash?” he asked, as he got up from the couch.

Johnny shook his head, and followed Mike to the hallway. “Not yet. But I’ll tuck you in, and then I’ll wait up for your mom. Oh—and Roy is coming by later. Around four.”

“Oh. What for?”

“Um, he, uh, kind of asked what we needed done, and I kinda said maybe the lawn needed mowing. I hope you don’t mind I took the liberty,” Johnny said, “but like I told him, you’d kill me if I did it, and I’d kill you if you did it.”

“And we can’t exactly ask my senior-citizen mom to do it,” Mike concluded, as he stripped down to his boxers. “It’s all right. I’m terrible at asking for help, so thanks.”

“No problem. It’s a skill that takes practice,” Johnny said, as he looked Mike over.

“What?” Mike said. “What are you looking at?”

“The bruise looks better.”

Mike looked down at his chest. “What are you _talking_ about? It looks _horrible_. It’s all purple and brown, and green around the edges.”

“Yeah, but it’s not swollen any more, and I’ll bet it doesn’t hurt as much. And green and yellow means it’s starting to fade. So—better,” Johnny said.

“I guess,” Mike said. “Anyhow—you said you were gonna tuck me in.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down at Johnny, who couldn’t contain a short burst of laughter, which was chased by a short fit of coughing.

“It’ll have to stay clean,” Johnny said, as he tucked the covers in around Mike’s body and lay down beside him for a moment, spooning up against his back. “Because your mom could show up any second.”

“Oh, fine,” Mike pretended to complain, but nestled in against Johnny and settled down for a rest. 

Johnny lay beside him until Mike’s breathing grew deep and even, and then carefully left the bed, clicking the door shut behind him. He went into the living room, and sat on the couch, and thought. He thought about Cap’s logic, and how his point of view made sense given that he didn’t have all the facts of the situation. He thought about how he felt like he was lying, by not telling Cap the whole, sordid story. He thought about how he could possibly stand the possibility of ever again seeing his lover lying motionless in a heap. He thought about how he could possibly stand the idea of wondering what kind of danger Mike was in, if the transfer had been allowed. No matter how he turned the future around in his mind, he felt stuck. There was no perfect answer.

Finally, he took out the business card, which he’d been carrying around in his pocket since his meeting with Cap, and set it on the coffee table in front of him. He stared at it for a long, long time.

~!~!~!~

_Tuesday, mid-day._

“I wish I didn’t have to leave you two,” Janet said, “but I couldn’t get out of hosting the bridge group tonight.”

“Aw, that’s okay, Mom,” Mike said. “It’s been so great having you around to help. It really made a difference, not having to think about all the little everyday chores.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “We woulda gotten ourselves in trouble, I bet, each of us overdoing it by trying to make sure the other guy was resting enough.”

Janet laughed. “Of course you would’ve. And John, it was so very nice to be able to get to know you a little.”

“You too, Janet. I, uh, I’m glad you can, um …” Johnny cleared his throat. “Uh, you know. Kind of … accept things.”

Janet’s eyes misted over. “So am I, John. So am I.” 

Johnny let Mike walk his mother out to the car and say his private goodbyes. He sat in the living room as the two of them talked quietly for a moment by her car, and then hugged each other. He saw Mike stand in the driveway for a minute after the car pulled away, and was pretty sure Mike was thinking about his father.

He was completely sure, when Mike came in and sat down next to him on the couch, without saying a word. They sat quietly for a couple of minutes, until Mike finally spoke up.

“I guess I should be glad I have one parent who accepts me,” Mike said, “instead of none. I oughta just quit thinking about whether my dad will ever accept me. It’s a waste of time and energy, and it’s a stupid thing to do.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Johnny said. “I mean, at least he knows you. Knows who you are. My dad? He doesn’t know me at all. We’ve never really talked, man to man, adult to adult. I don’t know what’s worse—having a parent who knows you but doesn’t accept you, or a parent who doesn’t even know you.”

“I’ll flip you for it,” Mike said. 

They sat together for a little while longer, holding hands, and looking out the bay window onto the quiet street.

Eventually, Mike picked up the business card that was lying on the coffee table.

“You’ve been thinking about the whole working together thing, haven’t you,” Mike said.

“Brooding. Yep. It just … it seems like there’s no right answer.”

Mike put the card back on the table, and looked at Johnny. “I have an appointment with Dr. Pritchard on Friday,” he said. “Come with me?”

Johnny nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay. ‘Cause damned if I know what to do.”

**TBC**


	36. Appointments, Part I

A/N: This chapter will make more sense if you’ve read “Some Things To Work On.”

 

**Chapter 36: Appointments, Part I**

  
  


A few hours after Janet Stoker left Mike’s house, the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“ _Hello, Michael, I’m just calling to let you know I got home safely. I hope I didn’t wake either of you._ ”

“No, we got up a little while ago.”

“ _Good. Everything okay over there, now that I’ve been gone, what, three hours?”_

“Fine, just fine. Our friend Roy DeSoto is coming over in a little while, to, uh, mow the lawn, but then we’re heading over to Johnny’s.”

“All right. Well, just wanted to let you know I was home.”

“Okay. Thanks for calling, and thanks again for looking after us for so long. It really was helpful, and it was great to see you. So, have a good evening. Don’t let the bridge club get too out of hand.”

Janet laughed. _“That’ll be the day. I should go. But please call me to let me know how you’re doing, and John too.”_

“I’ll do that,” Mike said. “Oh—and do you have a pen handy? I should give you his number, in case you need to get in touch, since we’re at his place half the time anyhow.”

“ _He lives in an apartment near your station, is that right?_ ”

“Yeah, how’d you know that?” Mike asked.

“ _We talked, a few times, while you were sleeping,”_ Janet said. _“It must get annoying to have to keep going back and forth.”_

Mike shrugged. “I suppose. We have a routine, though.”

“ _I’m sure you do,”_ Janet said. 

Mike imagined he could see her smile, as she realized that of _course_ he’d have a ‘routine.’ He sighed into the phone, more loudly than he’d meant to. “I guess you know me pretty well,” he said. 

“ _Of course I do. In any case—I just wanted to let you know I’m home. I should go; I need to get the house ready for the bridge group tonight.”_

Mike gave Janet the number, and they ended the call. He thought about something his mother had said, and wheels began turning in his head. They were still turning when Johnny came into the room, some minutes later.

“Hey, what’s up? You look like you’re thinkin’ about somethin’.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. Sit down for a second,” he said, patting the couch cushion next to him. “I wanna ask you something.”

Johnny plopped down next to him. “Uh, did I do something? I get a little worried when you look all … serious like that.”

“No, not at all. But I do want to ask you something serious.”

“All right. You can ask me anything, you know.”

“I know. So here it is. Will you move in with me? Here? We can rearrange things however you want so it feels like _our_ place, and not _my_ place with your stuff squeezed in. We’ll set up the second bedroom so it looks like it’s yours, in case people come over. We can—”

Johnny laid a hand on Mike’s arm. “Mike.”

Mike stopped talking, and looked at Johnny, whose dark eyes were shining.

“I want to. So bad. But we can’t,” Johnny said, holding both of Mike’s hands. “We just _can’t_. Maybe if Cap had said yes to that transfer, maybe then it woulda been okay. But we’ll be sure to get caught, one way or another, if we don’t both have our own addresses, our own phone numbers. Our own real bedrooms. I know it sucks, and I wanna say yes, so bad, but we can’t. Not right now.”

Mike looked away, and let out a long breath. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I know we can’t. I … just wanted to ask anyhow.”

Johnny leaned in to him, and rested his head on Mike’s shoulder. “I know. And I’m glad you asked.”

“Me, too. I just … needed to. You know?” Mike leaned over, resting his head on Johnny’s.

“Yeah, I know. But someday, we’ll be able to.” Johnny said.

“I hope so. But not now. Not when we’re working at the same station. Not while we’re both firemen.”

~!~!~!~

By Thursday, a week after the incident, Johnny’s cough was gone, and Mike wasn’t feeling dizzy or cranky. They could both make it through an entire day without needing a nap. On Friday, they went out for a run, and regretted it for the rest of the day. Saturday was spent making up for Friday, and Sunday had them doing a hike in the mountains, at a sane pace. By Monday, when Mike had his next appointment, they were both feeling normal. 

Mike still didn’t have the go-ahead drive, so Johnny dropped him off for his appointment, and planned to kill time reading the newspaper and drinking coffee at a coffee shop near the office building where the neurologist was based, and where Mike would meet him when he was done with his appointment. Johnny looked up after only ten minutes to find Mike standing over him.

“Huh? That was fast,” Johnny said.

“He wasn’t there,” Mike said sourly. “He got called out for an emergency, and I apparently wasn’t home when they called to tell me.”

“Oh,” Johnny said. “Yeah, I guess we were at my place this morning. Maybe that wasn’t so smart. So when did they reschedule you for? Tomorrow?”

“Friday,” Mike said. “Can you believe it? So I still can’t drive, and still can’t work, and it’s ridiculous. Ridiculous! I just got knocked on the head, and it was only supposed to be a couple days. You’re gonna end up back at work before I am!”

“It’s not a race,” Johnny said. “But I guess I am, since I go back on Thursday. That’ll be different—me at work, and you not. That hasn’t happened, has it?”

“No. I mean, not since … you know,” Mike said, looking around at the other customers.

“Look. As long as you’re here, have a cup of coffee. Get a muffin or something. Just don’t … loom,” Johnny said, craning his neck to look up at Mike, who was still standing.

“Yeah, okay,” Mike said, letting out a long breath. “I guess there’s nothing I can do about it, so I might as well not fight it.”

~!~!~!~

That Thursday, Mike had a novel experience: he was home, while Johnny was working. They’d stayed at Mike’s that night, even though it was farther from the station, because Mike still wasn’t cleared to drive. He felt totally ridiculous staying home, but there wasn’t a choice. He’d begged Captain Stanley to let him come back for today’s shift, but the captain wasn’t able to let him return until the physician signed his return-to-work papers, which wouldn’t happen until his scheduled appointment the next day.

So Mike decided to make the most of what was essentially a free day off. He felt fine—completely fine. He might have been able to fool himself if it wasn’t really true that he was okay, but he wouldn’t have been able to fool Johnny. But Johnny also agreed that Mike was fine, and had pleaded with him not to spend the day sulking and cranky just because Johnny got to go to work and he didn’t. 

After Johnny left, Mike busied himself around the house. He gave the bathroom a really good cleaning, even though it was in fine shape. He did the laundry, vacuumed, and finally decided he’d mow the lawn, even though it didn’t really need it. After he prepared, ate, and cleaned up after lunch, there was really nothing left to do without getting ridiculous, and Mike found himself thinking of what Station 51’s A-shift might be up to. 

It was probably just a regular old day, he thought. Plenty of runs for the squad, and lots of alarm activations and minor incidents for the engine. The whole station would probably get toned out at some point or another for an MVA, or a technical rescue of some sort. There might even be a fire.

_What’s Johnny doing now_ , Mike wondered. Getting a cat out of a tree? Pulling a kid out of a culvert? Doing CPR on a heart patient in the back of the ambulance, on the way to Rampart? 

Or maybe he was half underneath a precariously perched, mostly-crushed car, working on a patient while the engine crew cut the car up to extricate the patient? What if Mike’s sub didn’t have quite the steady hand that Mike did with the Jaws, or what if the car hadn’t been properly stabilized before Johnny entered? That was the kind of thing he did, Mike reflected, thinking of the many times he’d seen Johnny dive into a dangerous situation to help someone in trouble.

But no, Johnny had promised to think not just twice, but three times, before putting himself in danger. He’d promised to think, really think, about whether the potential benefits outweighed the definite risk. But would he remember to do that, without Mike looking disapprovingly at him? Because Mike’s sub certainly wouldn’t be shooting him any meaningful glances.

Mike started pacing the living room, back and forth in front of the bay window, without even realizing what he was doing. As he paced, his heart pounded a staccato rhythm on the inside of his sternum, and his whole body started revving itself up, as if there were some imminent danger that he would need to escape.

Maybe there wasn’t an MVA at all. Perhaps Johnny was inside a burning building, cut off from escape by a collapsed staircase, once again giving his precious breathing air to a victim rather than keeping it for himself. If something went seriously wrong, Roy would call, Mike knew. He’d call as soon as they got Johnny to Rampart. The phone would ring, and it would be Roy, voice shaking, not quite sure how to tell him the bad news.

Mike continued to pace, his mind whirling with one worst-case scenario after another. His chest started to feel tight, and he started to wonder if he maybe really was having a heart attack this time. 

The phone rang.

Mike suddenly felt faint, and had to sit down before he answered the phone to hear the news. Hands shaking so badly he almost couldn’t handle the receiver, he picked up.

“Hello?” he said. His voice was barely a whisper.

“ _Michael? Is that you, son?_ ”

Mike was so stunned by the voice he heard that he couldn’t reply.

“ _Michael? Hello?_ ”

“Dad,” Mike said. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is Mom okay?”

This time there was silence on the other end of the line.

“I _suppose,”_ Chuck Stoker said slowly, “ _that’s a reasonable reaction, considering I’ve never once picked up the phone just to talk to you. Everything’s fine here. But are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself._ ”

“Oh … uh … I was just kind of … expecting a different call. But never mind. I’m fine,” Mike said, trying to breathe evenly and not too fast, to quell the panic. 

“ _Good_ ,” Chuck said. “ _I was just calling to … to see how you’re doing. After your accident._ ”

“Oh,” Mike said, the panic starting to subside. He couldn’t think of what to say to his father, though, and the silence was awkward.

“ _Your mother said you were mostly back to your usual self by the time she left,_ ” Chuck said.

“Yeah. Pretty much. I have a follow-up tomorrow, and I’m sure I’ll get to go back to work for the next shift.”

“ _Good_ ,” Chuck said again. “ _And … your mother also said you seemed really happy_.”

He was trying, Mike could tell. So he tried to make the conversation easier, by saying what his father wasn’t. “Yeah. I’m sure she told you she met Johnny. But yeah. We’re really happy. _I’m_ really happy.”

“ _I ..._ ” Chuck cleared his throat on the other end of the line. “ _I’m glad you’re happy. And I’m sorry if … if I’ve contributed to unhappiness in any way. I … I don’t mean to. I just … don’t understand. I’m trying, though, son. I really am._ ”

“I know you are, Dad. Thanks.”

“ _The thing you said, last time you were in Palm Springs, about how it wouldn’t be fair to a woman for you to … fake it. That really stuck with me. And the other thing, too, about how you should be allowed to be happy. I … I don’t want you to be unhappy. I just wish you could be happy in … more traditional ways. But I think I understand, finally, that that’s not how it works._ ”

Once Mike was able to speak again after picking his jaw up off the living room floor, he managed to reply.

“You’re right,” Mike said. “It’s not easy. I— _we_ have to be really careful. We can’t live the way we’d like to, openly, and expect to keep our jobs. We’re keeping separate residences, and all that. It’s safer that way. It was okay, just barely, with Larry, because there wasn’t any overlap between our respective work lives. We could pretend we were housemates, and make that work. But that won’t work for me and Johnny.”

“ _I see,_ ” Chuck said. 

Mike was positive that his father was secretly extremely relieved that his son wouldn’t be cohabitating with his male lover. But he didn’t mind—not really. His father was trying—really trying—for the first time ever, and Mike wasn’t going to blow it.

“Dad?” Mike said.

“ _Yes_?”

“Thanks for calling. I really appreciate it.”

Both Mike and his father knew perfectly well that Mike wasn’t just thanking him for calling. They knew that Chuck had done something much more significant than make a simple phone call, and that was what Mike was thanking him for.

“ _You’re welcome, son. I’m glad you’re doing well._ ”

They ended the call, with promises on both ends not to let too much time go by without a call or a visit. Mike sat mutely on the couch for several minutes, pondering the enormity of what had just happened.

When he was done with that mental exercise, he remembered that his father’s call had jolted him out of the middle of a panic attack—his first one in a long time. As Dr. Pritchard had taught him, he tried to distance himself emotionally from the thoughts that brought on the attack, and think about them in a more rational way.

“Just because I’m thinking it doesn’t mean it’ll happen,” he said out loud. “Thinking isn’t jinxing.” 

He thought about the many times when Johnny had done dangerous things, and nothing bad happened. 

“There’s no such thing as magic,” Mike said, echoing what Johnny had told him once, many months ago, while he was still lying in a hospital bed at Rampart after breaking his leg in a gas explosion. 

He thought about what was most likely happening with the A-shift at Station 51. Cap was probably in the office doing paperwork. The substitute engineer probably wasn’t doing much—it just wouldn’t do to mess around too much with someone else’s engine. Marco would probably be starting dinner, if the crew was lucky, and Chet would be reading the sports section, or maybe helping Marco in the kitchen.

Johnny and Roy were probably out on a completely benign medical call. He tried to think of the many truly innocuous calls they’d been on: a woman whose new girdle was so tight she couldn’t breathe; a guy who got folded up in a sofa bed; people who worked the system to get a free ride to the hospital; lonely elderly people who needed attention more than they needed paramedics.

That was probably what was happening. A normal day. Nothing dire, nothing dangerous. 

Mike decided not to sit around inside—that was the worst thing he could do. He went out into the yard, and decided that all the bushes needed some trimming. Or, when he was honest with himself, he decided that all the bushes could tolerate some trimming, even though they looked fine. He just needed something to do.

Four hours later, the bushes were all slightly smaller, the grass was slightly shorter than it had been three days ago when it had last been mowed, and dinner was eaten and cleaned up after. Soon, he’d have to try to sleep, and that, he knew, would be the worst part of this day. 

At 8:30, the phone rang. Mike reminded himself that everything was likely fine, and took a deep breath before answering.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey, babe,_ ” Johnny’s voice said. “ _Thought I’d give you a call, just like you used to do when I was still off work. How’s that for a turnabout?_ ”

Mike didn’t say anything for long enough that Johnny must have wondered if he’d gotten a wrong number.

“ _Mike? Are you there?_ ”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Not entirely sane, but here.”

“ _What’s goin’ on?_ ”

Mike could hear the concern in Johnny’s voice. 

“Uh, I guess the worrywart in me is rearing its ugly head. I … um …” Mike slapped an open hand on his coffee table. “Damn it, this is so fucking _stupid!”_

“ _What is, babe? What’s goin’ on?_ ” Johnny asked again. 

Mike sighed so hard he almost had to jerk the phone away from his own ear. “I kind of … had a panic attack this afternoon. Worrying about you. It’s stupid. It’s embarrassing. But it’s what happened. I, uh, got out of it eventually, kind of by accident. But I _hate_ it. I _hate_ not being in control of what my own brain is doing. It’s so _stupid!_ ”

“ _Hey. Hey. It’s not stupid, okay? Are you okay now?_ ”

“Yes,” Mike said reflexively. “No,” he amended. “I don’t know. I won’t be able to sleep—I can tell you _that_ for sure.”

Johnny was silent for a moment, and Mike imagined he was probably chewing on the insides of his cheeks, the way he always did when he was thinking about something serious.

“ _I’m not gonna lie to you and guarantee I’ll be fine,_ ” Johnny said finally, “ _because you and I both know that would be a lie. But here’s what I will guarantee you: I love you, all right? No matter what. And I promise, I’ll go along to that appointment with Dr. Pritchard tomorrow. I just wish I could do something that would make you feel better._ ”

“You just did,” Mike said. 

“ _Yeah_?”

“Uh huh. But—I can’t help but wonder. I haven’t freaked out like that in a long time. Do you think my brains could still be addled? Is it still the concussion? I mean, I’m supposed to see the neurologist tomorrow right after Pritchard, and—and—well, I just have to wonder if I’m still not altogether there, you know?”

Mike imagined he could see Johnny nodding. “ _Yeah, I know. And that won’t go a away for awhile—the second guessing yourself, I mean. But here’s what I know—you’re back to your regular self, all right?_ ”

Mike snorted. “Panic attacks and all.”

“ _That’s not what I mean, and you know it. C’mon, babe. Don’t beat yourself up—please. I can’t stand it when you do that_.”

“Sorry. I know.”

Neither of them knew what to say, until Johnny made a suggestion.

“ _Why don’t you take some Benadryl—those pink allergy pills, you know? That’ll make you so tired you won’t have a choice except to sleep._ ”

“Maybe,” Mike said. “But you know how I feel about taking drugs.”

“ _I also know how you feel about being up all night worrying. And if you’re up all night worrying, you might not be in top mental form for the neuro doc tomorrow, right? So please—just take a couple Benadryls, okay?_ ”

“You’re right. Okay. I will.”

“ _And also—you said you got outta that panic attack kinda by accident. What was that all about? I mean, so you can try whatever it was, some other time._ ”

Mike barked a short, sharp laugh. “My father called. Can you believe it?”

Johnny paused. “ _Wow_.”

“Yeah, wow. He … he’s actually trying. I mean, I doubt he’ll ever be totally comfortable with who I am. But he’s trying. And that’s … really something.”

“ _I guess so! That’s great, babe. Oh—hang on a second,_ ” Johnny said, and Mike heard the sound of the dorm’s door, the one between the locker room and the sleeping area, that squeaked loudly no matter how much WD-40 or oil was applied. “ _Hey, Kelly—I’m on the phone. Can I have another minute of privacy?_ ”

“ _Oooh, Gage, talkin’ to a girl?_ ” Mike could hear Chet saying. “ _Sure, Johnny-baby. Take allllll the time you need._ ” The door squeaked again, and Johnny returned to the phone.

“ _What’d he say?_ ” Johnny asked.

“Huh?” Mike said.

“ _Your father, babe. What’d he say, when he called you?_ ”

“Oh. Sorry—I was just distracted by Chet. Um, just that … he’s glad I’m happy, and he’s sorry if he made me unhappy; that he doesn’t mean to, and that he’s gonna try harder.”

“ _That’s good. That’s real good, isn’t it?_ ” Johnny asked.

“Yeah, it really is. I guess I just don’t know what to do next. With him. I mean, there’s not much we ever did together.”

“I don’t even think it matters what you do. As long as it’s together. You know?”

“I guess you’re right. Hell, since he’s trying, I could break down and actually go play golf with him or something like that. Do my part in the trying game.”

“ _That’s the spirit. Hey—I oughta go, ya know? Not tie up the house line,_ ” Johnny said.

“Okay. Be safe, all right?”

“ _I’ll do my best. I mean it. And I’ll see you tomorrow after I get off. Hey, we never figured out how to handle that whole thing. I could come get you, and we’d probably be on time to that appointment with Dr. Pritchard._ ”

“I oughta take a cab. Meet you at HQ. Otherwise you’ll be in the car all morning, and actually, we probably _would_ be late.”

“ _Yeah, I guess that’s true. Okay. I’ll meet you … uh, where will I meet you?_ ”

“The appointment’s at nine. Why don’t you show up at five after? That way I can fill the doc in. Just knock on the door, and he’ll let you in.”

“ _All right. Not totally looking forward to this, to be honest._ ”

“I know you’re not. So thanks for doing it.”

“ _Anything for you, babe_.”

“It’s for both of us,” Mike reminded him. 

“ _Anything for_ us _, then_.”

They said their goodbyes, and Mike promised to take some Benadryl to see if that would help him sleep, just this once. 

He went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and downed two hot pink tablets, and read his book until, as Johnny had thought, he was too tired to stay awake any longer. He lay down in his own bed, by himself for the first time in months. He thought for a moment about Johnny, and what he might be doing, but stopped himself before the thoughts spiraled out of control. Instead, he reached over to what had become Johnny’s side of the bed, and took the pillow. He could smell Johnny’s scent on the pillowcase. He held the pillow in his arms, and was asleep before he had time to worry about whether he was going to be able to get to sleep.

~!~!~!~

Johnny hung up the phone after talking to Mike, and just sat quietly at the desk in the dorm area for a moment. He really felt awful about Mike’s worrying, and hoped the Benadryl would work for him. He didn’t understand Mike’s anxiety, but he knew it was really hard for him, and wasn’t his fault. Johnny was a firm believer that different people came wired different ways, and could learn to work with how they were wired, but couldn’t necessarily change their wiring, no matter how hard they tried. 

Johnny himself was wired so that usually, if he didn’t want to think about something, he didn’t think about it. Sure, when he was still recovering from his leg injury, and Mike was on a shift, Johnny worried some about what Mike might be doing. But he could stop thinking about it, pretty much whenever he wanted to. And he knew that Mike wasn’t wired that way.

He thought about a particularly memorable phone call Mike had made, probably from this very chair, and certainly from this very phone, late in Johnny’s recovery. He still didn’t quite know how Mike managed it, but his sexy voice, giving Johnny instructions about what to do to himself, had gotten him off faster than he could remember getting off by himself since he was a teenager. He’d briefly entertained the idea of trying to return the favor tonight, but he couldn’t think of what to say, or even how to start. Plus, he knew he didn’t have the knack for dirty talk that Mike did. He’d just have to wait until they were actually together, tomorrow, to do what he’d somehow managed to start thinking of, and needed to _stop_ thinking of in a big hurry.

So he stopped thinking about what he didn’t want to think about at the moment, and went back out to the ready room.

“That must be some chick, Gage,” Chet remarked. 

“Aw, mind your own business, Kelly,” Johnny said, as he poured himself a tall glass of cold milk. 

Chet surprised everyone by shutting up, but the silence didn’t last long.

BWAM, BWOOOM BWEEEEEP!

“ _Station 51, 2-car MVA with injuries, corner of Larson and St. James. Larson at St. James. Time out: 2147._ ”

Johnny chugged the rest of his milk, and dashed to the squad. 

“Everything okay?” Roy asked, as they drove to the incident.

“Mostly. Mike—well, he’s not having the best day. That’s all I really wanna say about it,” Johnny said. “Not that I don’t trust you—it’s just that it’s personal, ya know?”

“Still the concussion?” Roy asked, frowning.

“I don’t think so—I think it’s just …” Johnny trailed off, not having intended to say more.

“Sorry,” Roy said. “If you’re saying you don’t wanna say more, I shouldn’t be asking. But let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “We will. Thanks.”

The MVA turned out to be nothing more than a bad fender-bender, but the driver of one of the cars hadn’t been wearing a seat-belt, and ended up with a bloody nose. The men wrapped the scene up quickly, and returned to the station, just in time for the squad to be toned out again as Roy was backing the squad into the bay.

“ _Squad 51, 2967 Delmar Drive, 67-year-old male with chest pain and difficulty breathing. 2-9-6-7 Delmar, 67-year-old male, chest pain and difficulty breathing. 2250._ ”

Roy threw the gear-shift into first, and they proceeded to their next destination. The man’s wife let them in, frantically shouting that her husband had just collapsed on the bathroom floor. As soon as they saw the man’s bluish-gray skin tone, Johnny had a bad feeling that this run wasn’t going to go well.

“No pulse!” He moved the man to the center of the floor of the bathroom and started CPR, while Roy started ventilating. He attached the EKG leads in between ventilations, and they saw the irregular wiggles of ventricular fibrillation. Johnny continued compressions while Roy prepped the defibrillator.

“Clear!” Roy shouted, and Johnny made sure, in the extremely tight quarters, that he wasn’t touching their patient while Roy administered the shock.

Roy shook his head as he watched the monitor come down from the electrical surge of the shock. “No conversion.” The defibrillator whined as it charged up again. 

“Clear!” Roy said again, and Johnny pulled himself out of the way again. 

The patient twitched when the shock was administered. The defbrillator charged again, more slowly this time, and Roy set up the Biophone, which was a sign to Johnny that the patient’s heart rhythm still hadn’t converted.

Johnny continued with the CPR, with little feeling that it was going to help the man.

They administered one more shock while waiting for a doctor to pick up at Rampart.

“Johnny—sinus rhythm!” 

Johnny stared at the monitor in disbelief. He could see a slow heartbeat—too slow, but far better than v-fib, and completely unexpected. 

Roy reported in to Rampart, as Johnny continued ventilations, with high-flow oxygen, assisting the man’s nearly nonexistent spontaneous respirations. 

“Why did you stop?” the man’s wife cried. “Is he … is he dead?”

“No, ma’am,” Johnny said, as he continued squeezing the bag attached to the mask. “His heart had stopped pumping blood, but it’s started again. It’s very slow, and my partner is talking to the hospital now about what to do next.”

Johnny listened with one ear to what Dr. Brackett ordered, and there were no surprises. Johnny continued bagging him while Roy prepped supplies and began starting an IV. 

Roy wouldn’t swear in front of a family member, but Johnny could tell he wanted to. Johnny watched as Roy fished around for a vein, but the probing needle wasn’t finding a target.

“Let’s switch,” Johnny said. They’d been working together long enough that Roy would never take offense at such a suggestion.

Johnny pumped up the BP cuff on the arm Roy hadn’t just been working on, and after a few seconds, was able to raise a vein in the man’s arm. 

Johnny pulled the skin tight, and angled the needle. “Got it!” Johnny said. He secured the line, and added the bag of fluid and the medications Rampart had ordered, just as he heard the commotion of the Mayfair ambulance employees bringing the stretcher into the house.

They had a harrowing ride into Rampart—this was one of the unusual situations where both paramedics traveled in the back of the ambulance. They were glad they’d made this decision, when they had to pull the rig over on the way when the man went into v-fib once again. But they got him going again, and delivered a live patient through the doors of the ER.

The ambulance crew dropped Johnny and Roy back at the squad, which was part of their contract with the county.

“That was something,” Johnny said, once they were on their way back to the station. “We don’t see that too often.”

“True,” Roy said. “There’s not too many times when we arrive to a patient in full arrest and then bring a live patient to the hospital.”

“His chances are probably pretty poor, though, in the long run,” Johnny said. 

“Also true,” Roy said. “But we can’t change that. We did our best, and frankly, I think our best is pretty darned good.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “It really is, isn’t it?”

“I mean, we hardly even have to talk to each other during these things. We both know what Rampart is gonna order before they even say it, and we both know what each other needs before we have to ask for it,” Roy said. 

Johnny nodded slowly. “I guess so. And I guess Cap is right, not to split us up.”

Roy raised his eyebrows. “Is that one of the reasons he gave? For not granting your transfer request? You didn’t mention that before.”

“Yeah. I, uh, didn’t wanna make you feel responsible. But yeah. The brass doesn’t wanna split up high-performing paramedic teams. Which we’re one of, apparently.”

“Well,” Roy said. “I guess I have to agree that we’re probably a high-performing team.”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah. I’m starting to think Cap is right. Not to let me transfer.”

“Oh? Not just because of this run, surely?” Roy said.

“No. Um … I think it might be harder for Mike—worrying about possibilities of what could go wrong, what could be going wrong—than it would for either of us to just figure out how to work together.”

“You care to elaborate on that? I mean, Mike’s always so … matter of fact and logical about everything.”

Johnny shook his head. “Roy, I can’t say more about it. But he’s not, always.”

“Was that him, that you were talking to earlier?”

“Course it was. And, like I said, I’m not going into details, because that’s not right. But he was … worried. So like I said. Maybe it’ll be easier just to … carry on. Like we have been.” Johnny sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. “I just can’t deal with the idea of having to see him down again, and he can’t deal with not knowing what’s going on, if we’re not working together, so … it’s a lose-lose situation. We’re screwed.”

Roy pulled the squad over into a parking lot, and turned the engine off.

“Look. I’m not gonna say I know how you feel, okay? Because obviously I have no idea. I don’t even know how and if I can help. But whatever I can do—whatever Joanne and I can do—let us know. Okay?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Roy.”

**TBC**


	37. Appointments, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the ridiculous length of time between the last chapter and this one! I had a deadline, and real life, and stuff. But here ya go! And the next chapter is on its way.

**Chapter 37: Appointments, Part II**

_Friday morning_

Mike woke up at the crack of dawn, feeling well rested and, frankly, astonished at how well he’d slept. He showered and had breakfast, and did all sorts of mental exercises to keep his mind off of whatever Johnny might be doing. He decided that since he had plenty of time to get to his appointment, he’d take the bus most of the way, and then get a cab the rest of the way to avoid multiple bus transfers. He ended up arriving at his destination far earlier than he’d meant to, so he walked a few blocks to a diner for coffee before traipsing back for his appointment with Dr. Pritchard.

He sat on his usual chair in the waiting area at the end of the hallway, and read a magazine to avoid looking at the fellow who left the office just after 8:50. At nine sharp, the door to Dr. Pritchard’s office opened, and the bushy-bearded doctor waved him in.

“Good morning, Mike,” he said.

“Hi, Doc,” Mike said, as he took his usual seat. “Um—I should tell you before we get started. Johnny’s coming in five minutes. Sorry to drop a bombshell on you. But we didn’t totally decide until last night.”

Dr. Pritchard nodded. “All right. I’m glad he’s coming. I was hoping the two of you would decide to do this sometime. I’m guessing there’s something in particular you wanted to talk about.”

“I told him to show up at five after, and that you’d let him in,” Mike said, pointedly ignoring Dr. Pritchard’s hint to explain what the couple might want to discuss.

“I’ll keep an eye on the time, and look out in the hallway at five after.”

“Thanks. Yeah. So, uh …” Mike put his elbows on his knees, and rested his forehead in his palms. “Fuck. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Why don’t you start by telling me how things have been since your accident. I haven’t seen you since that day in the hospital.”

“Well, uh, I haven’t gotten back to work again. Not because I’m not okay, but because I have to be cleared by the neurologist, and he had to cancel our last appointment. Honestly, I think I’m totally fine, and Johnny says I’m back to my usual self. Johnny said I’m probably gonna second guess myself for every little mental blip for the next few months, and I think he’s right, but other than that, I really think I’m okay.”

“Good,” said Pritchard. “I’m glad to hear that. And Johnny? Is he well?”

“Yeah. Actually, he made it back to work yesterday. And … well, um …” Mike rubbed his forehead and sighed.

“Did you have some trouble, when you were at home, and he was on shift?”

“Got it in one, Doc,” Mike said bitterly. “I had a panic attack—would’ve gone full-blown, I think, if I hadn’t gotten a well-timed and really weird phone call just as I was really starting to lose it.”

“And what do you think triggered the panic attack, Mike?”

“Thinking. Like always. It started innocently enough—thinking about what Johnny might be up to at work. Yesterday was the first time ever that he was on shift and I wasn’t. I mean, the first time since we’ve been together. But of course, I couldn’t just wonder what he might be up to, and then be done with it. I started thinking about things happening to him. And I couldn’t stop!” Mike pounded the coffee table with a fist. “Damn it, I feel like I’m right back where I started, the first day I came into this office!”

“But you’re not, Mike. Tell me how you stopped panicking,” Pritchard said.

“Well, my father called. That’s a whole ‘nother story. A positive one, actually. But that was such a shock—him calling, I mean—that it, I dunno, booted me out of the cycle, I guess.”

Pritchard nodded. “Okay. And then what? How did you not end up right where you started?”

“Well … I guess once I was out of the cycle, I was able to think more rationally. Reminded myself that thinking isn’t jinxing, and that everything was probably fine, and that thinking everything was fine wasn’t gonna somehow get Johnny hurt. And then I forced myself to stay busy for the rest of the day, so I wouldn’t have time to brood.”

“Good. Let me ask you something. Do you think, that when we first started working on these things, you would’ve been able to keep yourself from getting anxious again after the phone call?”

Mike shook his head. “No—I would’ve gone right back to it. Or worse—I might not’ve been able to have actually had the phone conversation with my father—and that would’ve been a total disaster. Because he really, really put himself out there to make that call, and it would’ve set me and him back another ten years if I’d fucked it up.”

“So, then, you’re really _not_ back where you were when we started.”

Mike sighed. “I know. I know I’m not. I did all right, actually, all things considered. But—that’s not really what the problem is. Not why Johnny’s coming today.”

“All right. What’s the reason he’s coming today, of all days?”

“Well, we’d been doing okay working together. Then there was the incident two weeks ago. It was hard for both of us. You know what happened then, with me getting all out of whack. But Johnny—he really took it hard—seeing me get hurt. And I had a lot of thoughts about whether he had put his health in danger by taking care of me, instead of going straight in to Rampart himself. So we decided, both of us together, after a whole lot of talking, that we shouldn’t be working together. Captain Stanley turned Johnny’s transfer request down, and with the information he actually had, he made the right choice. Who knows what he’d’ve done if he actually knew, god forbid, that Gage and I were a whole lot more than good buddies.”

“I think I see where you’re going with this,” Pritchard said, “but go on.”

“Anyhow—we both started thinking about how the hell we could keep working together, since we knew that was what was going to happen. Then Johnny’s first shift came around, and what happens? Yep—a classic Stoker freak-out. So what it comes down to is we’re screwed. Damned if we do work together, and damned if we don’t.”

“We’ve talked about this before,” Pritchard said. “But I’m not surprised that things are feeling … unsettled, after you both got injured two weeks ago.”

Mike snorted. “Unsettled. Yeah. Being off my rocker for several days, at the same time as Gage was sick as a dog from smoke inhalation. Four days with my mother taking care of both of us—which was fine, actually. Eight more days of resting up, most of which was unnecessary for me, and then yesterday’s mental stability debacle.” He snuck a glance at his watch. “And he’s probably here, now.”

“I’ll go let him in,” Pritchard said. He opened the door a crack, and then pulled it all the way open. Johnny darted in.

“Okay, I don’t think anyone saw me,” he said.

Mike rolled his eyes.

“And if they did?” Mike said, glaring at Johnny.

“Uh … okay. Sorry. I guess that came out wrong.” Johnny looked around the room, eyes darting from point to point. He bounced on the balls of his feet, and his hands were fidgety. “And, uh, hi.”

“That’s better,” Mike said, his glare softening. “Hi, Johnny. How was your shift?”

“Not too bad. A couple of night calls, but only one that took very long.”

“Good,” Mike said.

“Johnny, why don’t you have a seat?” Dr. Pritchard suggested.

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Johnny said. He glanced rapidly across all the different seating options.

“That one’s safe,” Mike said, pointing to an armchair.

Johnny sat down, crossing one ankle over the other knee. He jiggled his foot up and down, until he realized Mike was giving him a look.

“Sorry,” Johnny said. “I’m just nervous.”

“That’s okay,” Pritchard said. “Pretty much everyone who walks in this room gets nervous. Even the guy delivering mail, and the maintenance guys. So why don’t we just dive right in to the topic at hand. Mike was telling me a bit about how your recent injuries on the job have thrown a monkey wrench into the routine you’d developed for working together comfortably. And that you decided maybe a transfer was the best option, but that your captain turned down your request.”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. We were doin’ real well, I thought. We were really settling into … uh, I guess the way to describe it is, how to, uh, be together at work without giving anything away.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “It was starting to be normal. Not feeling like we had to watch it all the time, but being comfortable with the boundaries we need to have.”

“And, you were both on board with the idea of Johnny transferring?” Dr. Pritchard asked.

Mike nodded. “It really seemed like the best thing. Now, we’re not entirely sure, but it’s a moot point, because Captain Stanley turned down the request.”

Dr. Pritchard nodded slowly. “As you said before, Mike, your captain made the right decision for the information he had. And I have to say, I agree with the general policy not to transfer people because they’ve become close friends with the people they work with. But, as you said, your captain didn’t have all the information.”

He looked back and forth between Mike and Johnny. “I have to tell you, this is new to me. I’ve had several situations where I’ve recommended a transfer—for confidential reasons not disclosed to anyone—because the person I’m working with has feelings for someone on his shift, and hasn’t been able to work through them. I’ve had many situations where I’ve recommended a transfer based on irreconcilable personality clashes between partners. But your situation is a new one for me.”

“So, uh, what are you getting at?” Mike asked.

“Well, the department doesn’t allow fathers and sons or brothers to work on the same shift at the same station. I would imagine they wouldn’t allow a married couple to work together, either. So what it comes down to, is, I would recommend a transfer for you, Mike, for confidential personal reasons that nobody but you or I would ever know, if that’s what the two of you wanted. I can’t recommend a transfer for you, Johnny, since you’re not officially my patient. However, I suspect that the recommendation might end up opening a can of worms that would be pretty hard to close again,” Pritchard said.

“I agree,” Mike said. “I can’t quite imagine being in that situation—everyone knowing there’s _something_ going on, but not exactly _what_. So thanks, but no thanks—I mean, unless you feel differently, Johnny. Because I’d do it, if that’s what you wanted.”

Johnny shook his head. “No—you’re right. People would be left wondering, and that would make things awkward for everyone. More lies, you know? Because people know we’re close, and would assume I knew why you transferred, and so on. So I think you’re right—better not to do that.”

“Okay,” Dr. Pritchard said. “So nobody’s going anywhere for the time being. So let’s talk about what’s changed. How will things be different now, after the incident that put you both in the hospital?”

Neither man responded instantly, but Mike spoke up first, being more comfortable with the situation. “Well, for me, three things, really. First, getting kind of a big reminder how dangerous his job is. And second, feeling like he put himself—his health, in this case—at risk because … because of me. Rushing in to take care of me, instead of taking care of himself. Both of those things … they really got to me. So the third thing is it’s gonna be really hard for me not to freak out when he’s at work and I’m not there for some reason.”

Johnny looked at Mike, really looked at him. He saw the shaking hands that Mike was trying to hide, and the twitching eyelid, and the knot of muscle in his jaw.

“All right, Mike. That makes sense. Johnny, what’s different for you?” Pritchard asked.

“Uh … okay. I suck at this stuff, but here goes. When Mike got hurt, seeing him lying there, unresponsive—well, that was one of the worst moments of my entire life, and I’m not exaggerating.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine doing that again. But the problem is, I can’t imagine _not_ being there if something did happen. So either way, it kinda seems like we’re screwed.”

“And I thought _I_ was supposed to be the pessimist,” Mike said wryly.

“Well?” Johnny said, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s kinda how it seems right now. And I kinda thought you were feelin’ the same way.”

“Sorry,” Mike said. “I’m nervous too. I didn’t mean to make light of anything.”

Dr. Pritchard waited to see if either of them had anything to add.

“It seems like you’ve both put a lot of thought into this,” he said. “I have a question for you, before we go on to talking about what you can do to work on this problem. And maybe, just maybe, this question will change how you’re thinking about some of this.”

“Okay, Doc—lay it on us,” Mike said.

“Would you say,” Dr. Pritchard began, “that the incident two weeks ago has driven you apart at all?”

Johnny frowned, and shook his head vigorously. “No way, no how. If anything—” Johnny stopped short, with his mouth open. “Oh,” he concluded.

“What?” Mike said.

“I see what you mean about this guy now,” Johnny said, looking at Mike but gesturing towards Dr. Pritchard. “About how he figures stuff out. But here’s what he made me think just now. That even though us both getting taken down at that fire was pretty grim, and scary, and all that, I think … uh,” Johnny paused and ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. Okay, I _really_ suck at this stuff …”

“I get it,” Mike said. “It didn’t push us apart. It brought us even more together.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, relieved not to have to put words to his feelings. “That’s it.”

“I’m guessing neither one of you is thinking about a career change anytime soon,” Pritchard said.

“No,” Mike said. “Maybe we’ll both get promoted sometime, but we’re both doing exactly what we need to be doing right now.”

“And you’re both fully aware that it’s a risky job,” Pritchard continued. “So what it sounds like is that one thing you _don’t_ need to worry about is the job—and the risks inherent in the job—driving you apart. And that’s a big, big deal, because let me tell you, a lot of men in this profession—and in other dangerous, 24-hour-a-day, three-hundred-sixty-five-day-a-year professions—have trouble maintaining relationships, partly for that reason.”

“I remember you saying something a long time ago about the divorce rate being really high,” Mike said.

“It is,” Pritchard replied. “But here’s what I’m thinking about your situation. It’s not the danger of the job that’s the problem; it’s being torn between wanting to be there if something happens, and knowing how hard that is, but also not wanting the daily stress of worrying about what might be happening to your partner if you’re not there. Does that sound about right?”

Johnny and Mike looked at each other and nodded.

“That’s it,” Mike said. “You hit the nail on the head. So, what do we do?”

Pritchard folded his hands in his lap. “Ultimately, I think you’re both actually looking at different things to adjust to. Mike, you’re weighing the anxiety of actually seeing Johnny in dangerous situations against the anxiety of not knowing what’s happening with him. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Mike said.

“And Johnny, you’re weighing the anxiety of possibly having to treat Mike if he’s injured against the anxiety of not being there to treat him—trusting his treatment to someone else.”

Johnny nodded. “That’s exactly it.”

“You’re having difficulty with two really different aspects of working together, or of not working together. So, I’m going to give each of you a slightly different prescription.”

“Okay …” Johnny said, sounding dubious.

“Mike, what I’d like you to think about during the shifts that you and Johnny work together is how good he is at his job. How he thinks about doing things safely, and how he knows what he’s doing.”

“I promised Mike that I’d try to think harder about all that stuff,” Johnny said. “Because I do kind of tend to be the fool who rushes in where angels fear to tread. But I’m done with that.”

“Don’t hold yourself to instant change in that respect,” Dr. Pritchard cautioned. “And Mike, don’t expect that Johnny’s going to instantly be the safest rescue man on the planet. But it’s a terrific plan, for a lot of reasons. But let me continue with where I’m going with this, Mike. I think that after some time of thinking that way, while you’re working together, it might be easier for you to handle times when Johnny’s working a shift and you’re not. I’d wager that gradually it’ll get easier not to worry excessively about Johnny when he’s working and you’re not together.”

Mike nodded slowly. “Okay. I think … I guess I see how that makes sense.”

“I’ll do my part,” Johnny said. “Like I said—I won’t just think twice; I’ll think three times.”

“Good. But I have one more suggestion, Mike,” Dr. Pritchard said, “which may or may not be something that’s possible. You said one of your shiftmates knows you’re together?”

Mike nodded. “Roy DeSoto, Johnny’s partner.”

“Is he by any chance married?”

“Yeah. His wife is amazing—one of the kindest and most accepting people I know,” Mike said.

“I bet she’d talk with you,” Dr. Pritchard said, “about what it’s like for her. After all—she’s never there to keep an eye on her husband.”

“That’s … that’s such a good idea that I’m embarrassed I never thought of it,” Mike said.

“I think there are a lot of reasons why firemen’s wives tend to be a close-knit group. Not that I’m at all suggesting that you’re a fireman’s wife—just that your situation does have some things in common with theirs, but with the big difference that you can’t call the other wives during the day for help and support.”

Mike nodded. “I understand. And I’ll definitely talk to Joanne.”

“Good,” said the doctor.

“And ya know what? I will, too,” Johnny said.

“Even better,” Pritchard said. “Now—Johnny. Here’s my suggestion for you, if you’re open to it.”

“Sure,” Johnny said. “I’m not promising I’ll try anything, but I’ll listen and I’ll think about it.”

“Once Mike is feeling up to it, I’d like you to consider doing some overtime at other stations, where you don’t know the medics. I’d specifically like you to spend some time seeing that your colleagues are competent and skilled, with an eye towards feeling more secure that if Mike were working at another station, he’d be in good hands in the unlikely event that he was injured. Engineers and captains are much safer in the field than firefighters and rescue teams. But still, I want you to see that other paramedic teams are good too. I know you and Roy are the most experienced team out there, and that you’ve been working together for years, but you need to believe and trust that your colleagues are good at their jobs, too.”

“I _believe_ it,” Johnny said. “It’s just the _trusting_ part that’s hard. For me there’s always been a difference between believing something rationally and really, _really_ knowing it. You know what I mean?”

“You don’t trust easily,” Pritchard said. “You may have many reasons why that’s so—like perhaps you had to fend for yourself at a younger age than most, or perhaps people in your life have let you down—but we’re not here to delve in to any of that. But it’s the trusting of your colleagues that needs to be more solid, I think, for you to be able to comfortably consider putting Mike in someone else’s hands on the job.”

Johnny frowned. “I get what you’re saying, and it’s a good idea. I’ll try it.”

“But?” Dr. Pritchard asked.

“But, a lot of what you’ve been saying sounds like you want us to prepare to _not_ be working together. Plus, you offered to get Mike a transfer. Do you think we _shouldn’t_ be working together? Is that it?” Johnny asked, still frowning.

“Not at all,” Pritchard said. “But it’s bound to happen at some point—and you both know that. So what I’m really getting at is that the same things that will help you work together more easily might also make it easier for you _not_ to work together, when that time comes.”

Both Mike and Johnny were silent for several seconds.

“I know it’ll come sometime,” Mike said. “I mean, I guess I’d rather retire on a captain’s pension than an engineer’s. I’ll have enough years on the job in not too long—next year, actually—to go for a promotion.”

“The brass is talking about making some paramedic supervisor positions,” Johnny said slowly, “but to be honest I’m not quite ready to go that direction yet. Even if it’s a big pay raise. But realistically, this is a young guy’s profession, and even I know I’m not gonna be young forever. So yeah, someday I won’t be doing what I’m doing now. I can’t quite see myself as an engineer—sorry Mike, but you know that’s true—so that direction of promotions isn’t for me.”

“I know. You’d last a week, tops, before you exploded.”

“So unless I do that paramedic supervisor gig sometime, this is where I’m at for a while. But it’s good stuff, Doc—all that stuff you suggested,” Johnny said. “I’ll give it a whirl.”

“Me too,” Mike said.

Dr. Pritchard once again didn’t say anything right away, just in case Mike or Johnny had something to add. But neither of them did, so he continued.

“So, we have another half hour before time is up. Is there anything else in particular that either of you would like to talk about?”

Mike and Johnny looked at each other, and shook their heads.

“All right. What I was thinking of, then, since you’re both here, is to talk about some of the strategies you’ve found helpful in working together, to make things more comfortable. It might also be useful to talk about any problems that have come up, or potential pitfalls you’re concerned about. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good,” Mike said, as Johnny nodded.

Once again, Mike took the lead, as he was more familiar with the situation, and didn’t want Johnny to feel like he was being put on the spot.

“I think we have two kinds of strategies. The ‘don’t get caught’ strategies, and then other stuff that just makes life easier,” Mike said.

“Good,” Dr. Pritchard said. “Can you give me some examples?”

“Well, here’s an obvious one. We don’t show up at the station at the same time. No matter where we’re coming from, we take separate cars. It’s a waste of gas, but it’s necessary,” Mike said.

“Good—but how about some of the less obvious ones? Things you had to think of along the way?”

“No innuendos. None. Unless they’re for the entire crew,” Mike said. “That’s fair game.”

“That’s a good idea,” Pritchard said. “Johnny, do you have any examples?”

Mike looked at Johnny. He was chewing his lip, and looking at the floor, while he picked at a piece of skin on one of his fingers.

“Um … I guess I kind of have a … what did you call it? A pitfall,” Johnny said finally. “A problem that I’m kinda stuck on, that I don’t know what to do about, and might get us in trouble. Or me, really.”

Mike raised his eyebrows. Johnny hadn’t mentioned anything like that to him in a while.

“Okay,” Dr. Pritchard said. “What can you tell us about this problem?”

“Um … okay, this is really embarrassing. I … uh …” Johnny scowled and shook his head. “I don’t actually even know if I should say it. Which is stupid, since I brought it up. But I just don’t know if I should even say it.”

“It sounds like it’s pretty important,” Pritchard said.

“I guess.” Johnny’s eyes flicked over to Mike, and then away again.

“Is it something you’d rather discuss just with Mike, some other time?”

“I dunno,” Johnny said, staring at his feet as he toed the rug.

“Or, sometimes it can be easier to talk about difficult relationship issues when there’s a neutral person there, too,” Dr. Pritchard said.

“I won’t get upset, Johnny,” Mike said, suspecting that was what was driving Johnny’s hesitation. “I mean, unless you’re dumping me.”

“No!” Johnny said, looking almost desperately at Mike. “No! That’s not it at all. Auggh!” He buried his head in his hands briefly, but Mike and the doctor just waited patiently.

Johnny sighed heavily, and sat up straighter, but without making eye contact with anyone. “Okay. I’ll just say it. See, I guess I kind of have a reputation with the guys for being kind of a skirt chaser. And I never used to keep my mouth shut about it, either. I mean, I wouldn’t disrespect the girls I was goin’ out with or anything like that, but I wasn’t very quiet about tryin’ to get dates with the girls, and braggin’ about it later. Maybe I overdid it, so nobody would suspect my gate swung both ways. I dunno. But anyhow—now? I can’t say that stuff anymore. And a couple people have noticed. But I’m not a liar, so I’m not gonna make shit up. But I don’t know what to _do_ about the people who’ve noticed, you know?”

Dr. Pritchard nodded. “I see how that’s difficult. There was a sudden change in your behavior that you feel like people might question, but since you’re an honest guy, you don’t want to tell lies to cover it up.”

Johnny scowled. “I don’t ‘feel like’ people might question me. I _know_ it. I mean, one guy’s started badgering me about it, even.”

“I’m sorry,” Pritchard said. “I didn’t mean to diminish the problem.”

“’s okay,” Johnny said. “I’m just kind of touchy, I guess. But what can I even _do_ about that?”

“I think you said it yourself,” Dr. Pritchard said. “You’re an honest guy. Obviously, you can’t tell your co-worker that you’ve suddenly stopped talking about your love life because you’re deeply involved with Mike. But what else could you say that would be completely honest?”

Johnny thought for a second. “I guess I could say, real seriously, that I’ve decided I just don’t want to share the details of my love life. That’ll work for one of the people who’s been noticing. But this one guy? Saying something like that to him will make him just push, and prod, and poke until one of us kills the other.”

“Kelly?” Mike said.

“Of course,” Johnny said, scowling at the floor like it had done him some great injustice.

“Can I ask something?” Mike said.

“Sure,” Johnny said.

“Is he pestering you one-on-one, or is it the pestering he does in front of everyone? I mean, I can’t quite see him getting in your face in private,” Mike asked.

“No, nothing like that,” Johnny said. “Just the nagging he’s been doing in front of the guys. I don’t think he’s trying to be mean—he just can’t leave it alone, is all.”

“Hmm,” Mike said.

Johnny rolled his eyes. “‘Hmm,’” he quoted, mimicking Mike’s intonation. “You sound more like a shrink than the shrink does. What the hell does ‘hmm’ mean?”

Mike sighed, but stayed calm. “In this case, ‘hmm’ means I want to say something that you probably won’t like, but I think is the truth, but I don’t really want to say if you’re just gonna get pissed off.”

“Oh, just say it,” Johnny said. “I promise not to fly off the handle or anything.”

“Okay,” Mike said. “Here’s the thing. I don’t really think he’s pestering or nagging all that much. I think it feels worse to you than it seems to other people, because you’re really worried about it. And I also think that if you talked to Chet privately, and just said you decided not to talk about your private life at work as much, I think he’d be a mature adult about it. I think he’d quit bothering you.”

“Now why would you think that?” Johnny said, raising his voice for the first time since they’d been there. He looked nervously at Dr. Pritchard, who just nodded at him reassuringly.

“Because,” Mike said, using ever fiber of his being to stay calm, “that’s what _I_ did with him, and it worked.”

“Huh?” Johnny said, his scowl transforming into an expression of confusion. “You never talked about your personal life before. Ever. So why would he hassle _you_?”

“Well, you’re not the only one who had a sudden change in behavior. You should’ve seen me, the first shift after, uh, our first date. I was a walking disaster area—nearly late, and not paying attention to anything anyone said. He bugged me about it a little that first shift, and then escalated. I finally just took him aside on a slow day and asked him calmly and politely to please lay off.”

“Wow.” Johnny cleared his throat. “I, uh, didn’t know that was happening. So what’d he say?”

“He just said something like ‘sure, no big deal, Stoker.’ And that was that,” Mike said.

“Huh. So, when was that, exactly?”

“I think it was a couple shifts after that barbecue at Roy’s. I mean, you heard the story Chet told, about him telling me to charge the standpipe system to ten thousand psi with pineapple juice, and me just saying ‘uh huh,’ right? And if I recall correctly, you helped me out and stopped him from hounding me in front of everyone. But at the next couple of shifts, he kept nagging. And nagging, and nagging. But it worked, actually, just to talk to him and ask him to quit,” Mike said.

“Wow,” Johnny said again. “Okay. Uh, maybe I’ll try that. I guess it would kind of be the adult thing to do.”

“Good,” Mike said. “I don’t think it’ll go wrong, Johnny. You and Chet are friends—but he does have a way of getting to a guy.”

Johnny smiled a half-smile—not quite the crooked grin that Mike liked to see, but enough that Mike could tell that Johnny was feeling better about things.

“I have to admit,” Johnny said, “that I’m glad I got that off my chest. So thanks, Doc.”

“Well, you and Mike took care of that all on your own,” Dr. Pritchard said. “Which is a good thing, because to be totally honest, my couples counseling skills have gotten quite rusty in this job.”

“Ha ha,” Mike said.

“Let’s get back to strategies,” Dr. Pritchard said.

For the remainder of the session, Johnny and Mike talked about things they did to make it easier to work together, and things they did or avoided doing to make sure their relationship wouldn’t be discovered by their co-workers. Five minutes before the session was to end, Dr. Pritchard began wrapping things up.

“So, we’re just about out of time. Johnny, I’m glad you came today. I hope you feel good about how things went here.”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. Like I said, I suck at this stuff, but I guess practice makes perfect, huh?”

“I think you did great,” Mike said. “I’m glad you brought up what you were concerned about. And I know you really weren’t looking forward to this, but I’m really glad we each have some things that we can work on. I’m really, really glad you came. Thanks.”

“Hey,” Johnny said. “Anything for you. For us.”

“I know—but this … it just seemed really big. So thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Johnny said.

“All right—Mike, I’ll see you in two weeks. And any time the two of you feel like you’d like to come in together, that’s fine,” Dr. Pritchard said.

“Um …” Johnny started fidgeting again.

“Yes?”

“Okay, this is gonna sound really stupid and paranoid, but how can we get out without people seeing us leaving together?”

“It’s neither stupid nor paranoid, given the situation. How about this,” Pritchard said. “I’ll check the hallway. If nobody’s there, Johnny, you head out. And then Mike can follow shortly.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. “Mike, I’m parked in the northwest corner of the lot.”

“All right. See you there.”

Pritchard opened the door, and sent Johnny out into the deserted hallway. Mike followed after a couple of minutes, and they met up at Johnny’s Rover in the parking lot. He found Johnny dozed off in the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Mike said, as Johnny’s eyes popped open to the sound of the car door closing.

“Hey,” Johnny said.

“You look beat,” Mike said.

“Yeah. Uh, when’s your appointment with the neuro doc?”

“Two hours,” Mike said. “You wanna go back to your place and catch a nap?”

“Yeah, I really do. Then I guess I’ll take you to the doc’s, and maybe snooze in the parking lot or something.”

“Sounds good. Then I oughta be cleared to drive, and I can drive us back to your place so you can get some real sleep.”

“’kay,” Johnny said, as he rubbed his eyes, then started the truck.

“I really missed you yesterday,” Mike said quietly.

“Me, too,” Johnny said.

They didn’t say anything else for the rest of the drive.

Ten minutes later, they were in Johnny’s apartment. Johnny dropped his keys in the dish by the door, and kicked his shoes off, leaving them where they fell. Mike put his shoes and Johnny’s on the shoe rack, and nearly collided with Johnny when he stood up.

Johnny took Mike by one hand, and with his other hand, cupped his cheek as he kissed him.

“Tuck me in?” Johnny asked.

The shy look, which Mike didn’t recall having seen on him in a while, had resurfaced. Mike understood that Johnny had laid himself bare, in front of a near-total stranger, and was completely worn out from the experience, especially since it came hard on the heels of a 24-hour shift.

“Of course I will,” Mike said, and kissed him right back.

In the bedroom, Johnny stripped down to his shorts, and practically fell into bed. He was surprised, in his last moments of awareness before falling asleep, to feel Mike’s bare chest against his back. He pulled Mike’s arm over his chest, and laced their fingers together.

What seemed to be about thirty seconds later, but was actually over an hour, Johnny awoke to a gentle hand on his back.

“Mm?”

“We gotta go soon,” Mike said.

Johnny rolled over to face Mike. “’kay. Five minutes,” he said, nuzzling his face into Mike’s chest, and hooking a leg over him.

Mike groaned. “Come _on_ , Johnny!”

“Don’ worry,” Johnny said. “Not gonna start anything we can’t finish. Just don’t wanna let go quite yet.”

Mike sighed, and buried his face in Johnny’s hair. “Can’t argue with that. But I really can’t be late to this appointment, even though the doctor will probably make me sit there for an hour in the waiting room, and then another half hour in an exam room, just so I can prove I can subtract numbers and spell things backwards and not go flying off on wild tangents.”

“You’ll do fine. You’re obviously at a hundred percent. You’ll be back for the next shift, for sure,” Johnny said.

“I know. I’m just antsy about it, is all.”

They held each other silently for another minute or so, until Mike finally unwrapped himself from Johnny and sat up.

“Okay. Now we really have to get ready to go.”

Johnny groaned as he sat up, and pulled his jeans on as he got out of bed. He trooped into the bathroom, and used the toilet. He washed up, and splashed some water on his face. Mike was already totally dressed when Johnny came out of the bathroom, and Johnny could see he was nervous about being on time, so he pulled his shirt on hastily.

“Ready. I’ll bring the paper, and read in the parking lot.”

Mike was about to open the front door of the apartment, when Johnny pulled him back.

“Hey,” Johnny said, and kissed Mike gently. “You’ll do fine.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, returning the kiss. “I know. Thanks.”

Johnny found a parking space in the back of the parking lot of the medical office building where the neurologist had his office. As soon as Mike was gone, Johnny got out the paper, fully intending to catch up on the world’s news. Inside of five minutes, though, he was fast asleep, head resting on the steering wheel.

He awoke with a start to the sound of someone rapping on the window. He pushed away from the steering wheel and looked blearily out the window. At first, he was concerned to see the uniform and the badge, but he grinned when he looked at the face, and turned the crank to roll the window down.

“Vince!”

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t Johnny Gage,” Vince said, relaxing and leaning on the car once he determined the absence of any threat. “We got a report that someone was passed out in a vehicle in the medical office building parking lot, so I had to check it out. Everything okay? I heard you were out for a couple weeks.”

“Oh, I ate too much smoke at that fire on East Bellingham a couple weeks ago, but I’m fine now. Went back to work yesterday. I was just driving a friend to an appointment—a buddy from my shift who got hurt at the same time as me—since he’s not allowed to drive yet. And I just got off shift, so I was taking a nap. Nobody’s passed out here; just snoozing,” Johnny said.

“Is there a problem, officer?”

Vince spun around, kicking back into cop mode, but then relaxed. “Oh—you’re on Gage’s shift. You must be the buddy with the appointment. I’m Vince Howard. Sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“Mike Stoker. Everything okay?”

“Oh, sure. Someone reported a person passed out in a car,” Vince said.

“But it was just me,” Johnny said.

“Ah,” Mike said. He shifted back and forth between his feet, obviously uncomfortable with the situation.

“Say, I really need to get back home and crash for a while,” Johnny said. “Thanks for checking up on me, Vince.”

“Any time—glad you weren’t actually passed out.”

Johnny snorted. “Well, I guess I can’t complain too much about an alert citizen being concerned about someone face-down on the steering wheel in the middle of the day.”

“Why don’t I drive you home, then, since you’re so tired,” Mike said, a tiny hint of a smile quirking his lips upwards.

“Great!” Johnny said, as he opened the door and got out. “That means you’re all cleared, right?”

“Yep,” Mike said, pulling his keys from his pocket as he took Johnny’s place behind the wheel.

“That’s great,” Johnny said again. He clapped Vince on the shoulder on his way to the passenger’s-side door. “Good to see you, Vince.”

“See you at the next one,” Vince said. “Take it easy.”

“Can do,” Johnny said.

Vince returned to his patrol car, and Mike started the Land Rover.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed, before Johnny even had a chance to ask him anything about his appointment.

“What? What?” Johnny said in alarm.

“I used my own key. I took _my_ keys out of _my_ pocket, and used them to start _your_ car,” Mike said. “Right in front of him. A cop, with cop eyes, and a cop brain.” He banged his head lightly on the steering wheel, which was still warm from Johnny’s forehead. “Damn it.”

Johnny watched Vince pulling away in his patrol car. “I don’t think he noticed,” Johnny said.

Mike didn’t say anything.

“Look, if he’d noticed, he woulda at least looked at us funny. Or turned back to look again. He just said normal stuff, and went to his car. I really don’t think he noticed a thing, Mikey,” Johnny said.

Mike sighed. “I guess not.” He sighed again, and put the car in reverse. “I was pretty damned stupid, though. I was just so happy to be able to drive again I didn’t even think about anything else.” He backed cleanly out of the parking space, and turned out of the parking lot onto the street.

“So everything’s okay?” Johnny asked.

“Yep, passed with flying colors. And the doc said the same thing you did, about how there are lots of normal blips with memory and attention, and that I’ll probably notice them more than usual, even though they’re probably not happening more than usual. That it’ll take a while to stop second-guessing myself.”

“Smart doctor,” Johnny said.

“If I recall correctly, you said the same thing to me, a couple days ago. So I guess you’re as smart as him,” Mike said, turning onto a larger street.

“Well, maybe I’m not too dumb, for a fireman,” Johnny said.

“You know, I really hate it when you say stuff like that,” Mike said.

“Sorry,” Johnny said. “I know. It just pops out, sometimes. It’s another one of those things. I know I’m not stupid, but the believing hasn’t quite caught up with the knowing yet.”

Mike sighed again. “And I’m sorry for how I put that. I don’t hate it because it annoys me that you say those things; I hate that you feel that way. I don’t _want_ you to feel that way.”

“Yeah. I know. Thanks, babe.”

Johnny suddenly felt better when Mike reached across the middle seat and took his hand. They were quiet the rest of the way back to Johnny’s, and silent on the way up the stairs to his apartment, which was surprising to Johnny. Their walk up the stairs felt like a replay of that morning, after their session with Pritchard. Somehow, he had thought they’d have some kind of celebration, but the day had turned quiet. Not in a somber way, he thought, but in a contemplative way.

Johnny opened the door, and they entered the narrow hallway.

Mike cleared his throat. “You, uh, need to crash?”

Johnny shook his head. “Nah. What with the nap this morning, and then zonking out in the parking lot, I’m okay. I think I’ll be better off just staying up till a decent hour tonight. In fact, why don’t we have some lunch here, and then I’ll get some stuff, and we could go to your place?”

“You sure? Don’t you want to just … not chase around for a while? I don’t mind staying here,” Mike said. He was dying to end the awkwardness that had suddenly sprung up, but nothing brilliant was coming to him.

“Well, we have to go back to your place sometime before our shift on Sunday, so you can get your truck,” Johnny said.

“Good point,” Mike said. “Okay. So: lunch here, then maybe just hang around here for a while, so we can have a break from running around, and then head up to my place around dinner time?”

“I have an even better idea,” Johnny said.

Mike raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Romano’s is about halfway between here and your place. How ‘bout if we have dinner there, for old times’ sake? And to celebrate that we’re both really back on our feet?”

With Johnny’s suggestion, the awkwardness that had inexplicably fallen between them fell away in an instant. Mike couldn’t help it—a huge grin spread across his face when Johnny mentioned the restaurant where they’d had their first date, but hadn’t been since. “You’re on.”

**TBC**


	38. Dinner at Romano's, Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while. Way too long. Sorry! But here it is! And the next chapter is nearly complete.

**Chapter 38: Dinner at Romano’s, Again**

_Friday, 5:30 p.m._

“So, I gotta ask you something,” Mike said, when they were almost to the restaurant.

“Fire away,” Johnny said.

“The maitre d’ at this place … what was his name again?”

“Leo,” Johnny said. “But that’s not what you wanted to ask, is it?”

“Uh, no. What I was gonna ask, is, does he … uh, well, did he know … um …”

“That it was a date? Last time we were there?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah,” Mike said.

“I didn’t exactly say so, when I made the reservation that time, but he knew.”

“How?” Mike asked quietly.

“Well, uh …” Johnny cleared his throat. “You see …”

“Never mind,” Mike said. “If you don’t wanna say.”

“Nah, it’s all right. I just don’t like the feeling that I was kind of a player for a long time. You know? It’s … embarrassing. Makes me feel immature.”

“I don’t judge you for that,” Mike said. “In fact, I kind of envy you—that as a young guy you already felt comfortable enough with who you were to just … have a good time. I couldn’t have done that, because I’m so … you know. But I wish I could’ve. But anyhow, go on.”

“Well,” Johnny said, “I kinda went out for a while with a guy who used to work there. And he knew Sal—the chef, who’s Leo’s brother, was gay, and that Leo was cool. So … guys kinda know that it’s, you know, an okay place to go out with another guy. You didn’t notice, when we were there before, that there were a lot of guys at tables together?”

Mike laughed. “Johnny, I wasn’t looking at anything except _you_. The rest of the tables could’ve been full of space aliens, or circus clowns, and I wouldn’t’ve noticed.”

“Me neither,” Johnny said. “But seriously—are you okay with this? Because we could always cancel the reservation.”

“It’s not a problem,” Mike said. “I just needed to know, is all.”

“Okay.”

They arrived at the restaurant after another minute. Mike remembered the red awnings from their first visit, but was amused, when they entered the establishment, that he had no recollection of the interior of the building. He grinned slightly as they sat at the table they were shown to.

“What?” Johnny asked.

“I don’t remember the inside of this place at all. Like I said—I was only paying attention to one thing,” Mike said, grinning sheepishly.

Johnny grinned right back. “I kinda was, too.”

“Maybe this time I’ll be able to actually eat my food,” Mike said.

“You didn’t seem nervous, last time we were here,” Johnny said.

“I wasn’t, really. It was just … butterflies. But I guess you probably don’t know what I mean.”

“Oh, I sure do, Stoker.”

“Huh,” Mike said. “I guess I thought you were the kind of guy who’s so confident on first dates that you wouldn’t get that feeling in your stomach.”

“Who, me?” Johnny laughed. “Man, I was a nervous wreck the day I asked you out. It was like … I dunno, like I suddenly discovered a secret passageway, that turned out to lead to a room that had everything I ever wanted in it.”

Mike’s lips quirked up in a smile. “We should come here more often.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because you say the best things when we’re here.”

“Seriously, though,” Johnny said, “I was scared shitless.”

“What, you didn’t think I was interested?” Mike said.

“I _knew_ you were interested,” Johnny said. “And that’s what scared the shit outta me.”

“Yeah, this whole thing is pretty insane, isn’t it,” Mike said.

“But I wouldn’t trade it for anything, Mikey. Not for anything. No matter how hard it is at work, or whatever.”

“Me neither,” Mike said.

They looked at each other, for a long time, just like they’d done on their first date, and were startled when the waitress approached the table.

“Can I start you with some drinks?” she asked.

Mike looked at Johnny and raised his eyebrows. “How about a total do-over?”

Johnny grinned back. “Works for me.” He turned to the waitress. “We’ll have a bottle of the house red, and then we’ll each have the chicken marsala, with a side of the linguini with puttanesca sauce.”

The waitress smiled. “That was easy,” she said. “I’ll be right back with your wine.”

“Should I put my foot up on the seat next to you?” Johnny asked.

“If you want,” Mike said, “but I bet it’d be uncomfortable this time around, since you didn’t just get out of a cast.”

“Hmm, probably true,” Johnny replied. “I’ll still wanna go to your place for coffee and dessert, though.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way,” Mike said.

They reminisced about their first date a bit over their wine. The food arrived in what seemed like no time. Mike was able to look around the restaurant this time, and noticed that there were more tables of two men than would be typical. He felt more at ease about obviously being on a date given that there were several other same-sex tables where that was clearly the case as well. He relaxed and let the warm glow of the wine’s alcohol wash over him, and loosened up enough that he was able to make Johnny blush several times during the meal, with double entendres and innuendos that he was rarely bold enough to make in public.

Johnny, for his part, enjoyed seeing Mike loosen up a little bit. In private, he was never shy in their relationship, but in public, things were difficult for him, even in settings outside of work or socializing with people from work. They didn’t go out, much, simply because Mike got so antsy—eyes darting around, looking to see who might be watching, his head whipping around to look any time a door opened. So Johnny was thrilled to see the Mike he knew and loved showing through outside of their own homes. Someday, he hoped, thing would be different, but they both knew all too well that they risked their careers and their friends by being in this relationship.

The waitress came to clear their dishes. “Would you care for coffee and dessert?” she asked.

She happened to ask this question, of course not knowing that the phrase had a secret meaning, just as Johnny was taking a sip of his water. He choked and sputtered, and glared when Mike laughed.

“Are you okay?” the waitress asked.

“Sure—just some water down the wrong tube,” Johnny said. “And thanks, but I think we’re all set.”

“You sure? The dessert special is tiramisu,” the waitress said.

“That sounds great, but just the check, please,” Mike said. “We’ve gotta be someplace in a few minutes.”

“No problem,” the waitress said.

“Fibbing to the waitress,” Johnny admonished, after the young woman was out of earshot. “That’s not like you, Mikey.”

“No fib,” Mike said. He leaned back in the booth and crossed his arms. “My bedroom. It’s urgent.”

Johnny grinned. “Yeah, Stoker, it kinda is, isn’t it?”

They paid their check, and went out to the parking lot and climbed into Johnny’s Rover. Johnny was about to start the engine, when he noticed that Mike was looking around the parking lot. Johnny didn’t see anyone.

“Mike? What are you looking for?”

“Nothin’. Already found what I’m looking for,” Mike said, as he leaned over the middle seat. He put a hand on Johnny’s left cheek to gently turn his head, and kissed him.

Johnny was so astonished that at first he didn’t react to Mike’s kiss. But when Mike’s hand slid around to the back of his neck, Johnny leaned in and participated fully, until they came up for air. He swore that Mike looked … smug.

“Now what brought that on all of a sudden, right in the parking lot?” Johnny asked.

“You complaining, Gage?”

“Uh … no. Definitely not complainin’.”

“Good. Now drive,” Mike said, a satisfied smile occupying his lips now that they were not longer busy kissing Johnny’s.

“Yessir, Cap’n Stoker sir,” Johnny said, finally starting the engine.

Mike laughed. “Now that’s wrong in so many ways I’m gonna try to forget you said it.”

“Okay. But I’m not gonna forget that we have an urgent appointment. Ten minutes, and your mattress ain’t gonna know what hit it.”

“You’d think it’d be used to it by now, poor thing,” Mike said. “By the way, drive faster.”

Johnny snorted. “Ya know, everyone thinks I’m the daredevil of our crew. But actually, I think I’ll stick with the speed limit tonight. On the road. Don’t really wanna have to explain why I was speeding. ‘You see, Officer, it’s like this. My hot boyfriend here promised me hot sex, and then he told me to drive faster. So it’s not my fault. I couldn’t help it.’”

“Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t go over so well. Plus, we can’t have sex if we have a wreck. So … drive safely. But not _too_ slow,” Mike said.

Johnny pressed his foot a little more firmly on the accelerator.

“I think,” Mike said slowly, “that I’ll start taking your clothes off in the hallway. As soon as the front door is shut, I’ll undo just enough buttons on your shirt that I can pull it over your head, at the same time as you’re trying to undo mine.”

Johnny’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard.

“You’ll probably be able to get my jeans off before we get to the bedroom, but yours are so tight I’ll have to peel them off you, once I toss you down on the bed.”

“Gettin’ tighter, too,” Johnny said, grinning as he worked hard to keep his eyes on the road.

“Once you’re on the bed, yeah, peeling is definitely the right word. You’ll shimmy just the right way to help out, and the good news is that your shorts will come right off along with the denim,” Mike continued. “Then you’ll pull me down with you, and we’ll touch each other absolutely everywhere, hands and lips and tongues, and we’ll … uh, babe, you just missed a turn.”

“Now why do you s’pose that might be?” Johnny said, as he took the next turn, and doubled back to the road he’d meant to take.

Mike didn’t distract him for the rest of the trip, and five minutes later, they were in Mike’s driveway. Johnny shut off the engine and looked over at Mike.

“You’ve got some promises to live up to, Mikey.”

Mike waggled his eyebrows. “Let’s go inside.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Johnny said. He got out of the Rover, and saw that Mike was already unlocking the front door of his house. Mike held the door open for Johnny, but stood slightly in the way, so Johnny had to brush past him to get in.

The second the door was shut, they were on each other. Mike’s hands flew over Johnny’s buttons, while Johnny couldn’t help himself, and grabbed straight for Mike’s ass. As Mike promised, Johnny’s shirt was off in no time. A trail of clothing developed in the hallway, as they stripped each other between increasingly frantic kisses.

Mike slammed the bedroom door shut without letting go of Johnny, and worked him backwards towards the bed. When the backs of his legs hit the mattress, Johnny let himself fall. Mike straddled Johnny’s legs, and ran his hands up and down Johnny’s bare chest, watching the goosebumps appear where his fingers trailed in ghost-light touches. He reached the waistband of Johnny’s jeans, and shook his head.

“Nice to look at, but now they’re just slowing me down.”

“Well,” Johnny said, “we just hafta do like you said in the car. You peel, and I’ll shimmy.”

They did just that, with some laughing along the way, especially when they got to the socks. Finally Johnny was naked, and Mike was down to just his boxers, which Johnny quickly divested him of. The flirty chatter ceased, and was replaced by the quieter sounds of accelerated breathing, mingled with quiet sounds of pleasure as they caressed and kissed each other’s bodies.

They made love languorously, the pace contradicting the urgency of their chatter in the car. It was as if once they could finally touch each other, they felt safe and relaxed. Afterwards, they lay together under the gentle breeze of the slowly spinning ceiling fan in Mike’s bedroom. Mike rested his head on Johnny’s chest, and Johnny played lazily with Mike’s hair.

“Let’s run away together,” Johnny suggested. “Get a place out in the boonies in northern California, near a river.”

“Okay,” Mike said, his voice fuzzy with post-coital drowsiness. “I’ll mow lawns, and you can deliver papers.”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah, okay, so maybe not.”

“We can retire someday,” Mike said, with the last of his energy.

“Mm. Yeah,” Johnny said, as he pulled the covers up over them. As he lay there, uncharacteristically the last to fall asleep, he realized that for the first time since becoming a firefighter, he was actually glad that it wasn’t something you could do forever. “Yeah,” he whispered into Mike’s hair. “We can.”

**TBC**

  
  


 


	39. Back to Work, Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for this chapter: victim deaths, and major peril to a main character.

**Chapter 39: Back to Work, Together**

  


Johnny watched as Mike finished buttoning his shirt, and tucked it into his jeans.

“Ya know, I’m more nervous about today than about the first shift we worked together since we hooked up,” he said.

“I know,” Mike said, sitting on the bed next to Johnny to pull his socks on. “I am, too.”

“Three times,” Johnny said. “I promise, I’ll think three times before I do anything risky.”

“Me too,” Mike said. “Not that it happens much, these days, but it could. And I promise not to make myself sick worrying.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Okay. I guess I better get dressed too.”

“Nah,” Mike said, shoving his wallet in his back pocket. “Just go to work in your shorts. You just have to put your uniform on anyhow.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. “I’ll be sure to tell everyone it was your idea.”

“Great,” Mike said. He returned to the bed, and leaned over to kiss Johnny quickly, and stood up again. “See you there.”

“Whoa, hey, not so fast, buster,” Johnny said, pulling Mike back towards him.

Mike laughed, and played along. He allowed Johnny to pull him back down onto the bed. He kissed Johnny for all he was worth, until they were both breathless, and Mike’s clothing was rumpled. He stood up from the bed again.

“Now I’m all wrinkled,” he complained.

“You started it,” Johnny said, getting out of bed himself.

“I started it? Uh, who just dragged me back into bed?”

“You started it by giving me such a cop-out wimpy-ass kiss,” Johnny said.

“Well, hold that thought until tomorrow morning, Gage,” Mike said, as he straightened his shirt and tucked it back in again. “Time to change gears.”

“Yeah, yeah; I know. See you at the barn.”

Mike arrived only slightly later than his usual very early 0730 entrance time, and was greeted by the engineer of the outgoing C-shift.

“Stoker! Good to see you back on your feet!”

“Thanks,” Mike said. “How’s Big Red?”

“Just fine—we had the pumps tested after the supply line blew on you, and everything’s fine. Man, that was a weird thing. Glad you’re okay now.”

“Yeah, it _was_ weird. I just wish I could remember it—but I think I’ve got about forty-five minutes that are gone forever,” Mike said, rubbing the still-tender bruise on his chest that was his only physical reminder of the accident.

“Just between you and me,” the C-shift engineer said, in a low voice, “your Cap was pretty freaked out, having two guys go down at the same time.”

“Yeah, I know it,” Mike said. “Thanks for the heads-up, though.”

“I guess Gage was actually back a couple days ago. Man, he’s gotta have more line-of-duty injuries than anyone else in the department. Seemed like he was just back from that broken leg for a couple months when this happened.” He shook his head. “Gotta wonder what’s going on there, dontcha?”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek to try to keep himself from saying something inappropriate, but was saved by Captain Stanley walking into the bay.

“Stoker! Glad to see you back!”

“Thanks, Cap,” Mike said, grateful for the diversion. “It’s good to be back.”

“Hey, come on in here for a second,” Cap said, gesturing to his office. “I wanna run something past you.”

“Okay,” Mike said. He turned to his C-shift counterpart. “See ya later.”

Cap held the door to the shared Captain’s office open, and Mike entered. He was happy to see that Captain Hookrader wasn’t present. Cap gestured to the seat across from the desk, and Mike sat down.

“You’ve been an engineer for almost five years, now, Stoker. About long enough that you should be thinking about going for a promotion, huh pal?”

“Uh …” Mike couldn’t come up with an intelligible response, so he just sat there with his mouth open.

Cap laughed, predictably. “Don’t get all worked up, Stoker. This conversation isn’t about you going for a promotion. Not really. I just want you to read this memo and see what you think, from a leadership perspective. Put yourself in a future Captain’s shoes, maybe even yours, and see what you think.”

“Oh. Okay.” Mike cleared his throat. “That’s good, because it’s still another year until I can even apply.”

“Well, we’ll talk about that some other time. But for now, take a look at this.”

Cap handed a sheet of paper on department letterhead over the desk, and Mike took it. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead as he read through the memo. He handed it back to Cap.

“It’s about time,” Mike said.

“I thought you might say that. I agree with you, too. Now, do you think there will be any resistance to this? I mean amongst our gang, not the department as a whole.”

Mike shook his head. “I doubt it. It’s sensible, and it’s timely. I always figured something like this would come down the pike sooner or later. SCBAs need to be for _our_ protection. We need to use them when we’re in hazardous environments. We’re no good to the people we’re rescuing if we aren’t protected while we’re rescuing them. And buddy-breathing with a civilian—I think it makes the rescue take longer, and makes the rescuers less effective. So I’m not surprised, and I think it’s a good policy.”

Cap frowned slightly at Mike. “So, you don’t think Gage will pitch a fit about this?

“No. He’ll go along with it just fine. Believe it or not, he and I had some pretty intense discussions about what happened at the fire where we got hurt.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Cap said. “There’s only two kinds of conversations with Gage—the ones where he does all the talking, and the intense ones.”

Mike silently disagreed, but replied the way Cap was expecting. “Regardless, I don’t think he’ll have a problem with these new regs.”

Cap looked at him skeptically. “Well, I’m not so sure. When push comes to shove, I bet he’ll skirt the boundaries.”

Mike shook his head again. “Not on this one. After that last rescue? Trust me. He gets it. He won’t give you a hard time about these new regs.”

“Okay, if you say so. I guess you probably know him better at this point than I do,” Cap said.

 _Oh, Cap, if you only knew_ , Mike thought.

“Say, Cap; can I look that over again?” Mike asked.

Cap handed the page back to him. “Have at it. I’ll go put on some coffee while you’re doing that.”

“Thanks,” Mike said absently, already absorbed in the document again.

He skipped the introduction, which basically just said that the attached regulations were effective immediately, and were to be taken as strict regulations, and not flexible procedures or guidelines. The regulation was crystal clear: in any environment that was immediately dangerous to life and health, a firefighter must wear his SCBA at all times. Sharing with civilians was strictly prohibited. Buddy-breathing with another firefighter who was out of air would remain acceptable, and specific regulations for that situation would be forthcoming. Consequences for disobeying the regulation included a variety of disciplinary actions, ranging from a formal reprimand, to suspension without pay, and dismissal.

It was high time for this regulation, and Mike couldn’t help but wonder whether Johnny’s recent smoke inhalation—and, more specifically, the lengthy report Cap would have had to file on the circumstances surrounding the injury, had anything to do with the new regulation. The fire where they both got hurt was only just over two weeks ago, which seemed an awfully short time-frame for the brass to come up with something like this. But, as Mike looked the paper over again, he realized they probably sent it out sooner than they’d originally intended, since the regulations about buddy-breathing with a fellow firefighter weren’t yet complete.

The more he thought about it, the more Mike became convinced that Cap’s report had influenced the initial delivery time for this new regulation. He left the memo on the desk, and went into the kitchen to find Cap.

“Your report on Johnny’s injury--that pushed this through, didn’t it,” Mike said, without preamble.

“You’re a sharp one, Stoker. But yes, yes it did. I got called into HQ the day after, and they grilled me left, right, and upside down about the incident. I told them flat out that this kind of thing was gonna keep happening if they didn’t explicitly ban it,” Cap said.

“Good. And thanks. You know how hard it is to see our buddies going interior when we’re outside and safe. Well, safer,” Mike amended. “So thanks for doing what you did, to make them a little safer.”

“That’s the idea, Stoker. That’s the idea. Everyone goes home, every time.”

Cap and Mike sat at the table and silently had their first cup of coffee while waiting for the other men to arrive. The rest of the crew trickled in one by one. Everyone seemed like themselves, except Chet, who dragged himself in just before roll call, with bloodshot eyes and pale skin, looking like he had been partying until later than he should have.

Cap assigned chores as usual, and went through the day’s events. Just as everyone looked ready to take off, he cleared his throat loudly.

“Did _you_ hear anyone say ‘dimissed?’ Funny, ‘cause I didn’t.”

The men fell sheepishly back into line.

“Okay, listen up. New regs from HQ. I’ve been instructed to read this aloud at roll call, and to make sure that each of you sits down and reads it on your own this morning. This is serious, people. I don’t wanna hear one hint of protest on this, are we clear?”

There was a smattering of mumbled “yessirs” with a “sure, Cap,” from Johnny. Everyone listened while Captain Stanley read through the new regulations.

“Any questions or comments?”

Johnny raised his hand, and Mike had to suppress a smile as Chet winced. Chet always assumed the worst, Mike thought, especially where Johnny was concerned.

“Gage?” Cap said. “Let’s hear it. And remember what I said.”

“No protests here, Cap. I think it’s a good reg. I did some thinking when I was out, and I’m clear on the idea that the rescuer is no good to the victim if the rescuer becomes another victim. So you won’t get any protests from me,” Johnny said.

Mike caught Roy’s glance, and replied to Roy’s raised eyebrows with a subtle smile.

Chet, as usual, couldn’t keep his feelings to himself. “Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Gage?”

Johnny scowled, leaving no doubt that it was him and not some Stepford firefighter. “I’m tryin’ to be serious, Chet. It’s a good reg.”

“I agree,” Roy said. “We’ve come a long way in the last couple decades in terms of our own safety, but we can always do better. And what Gage said about the rescuer becoming another victim? That’s right on target. That’s exactly what we need to avoid. Having regs like this will save people from themselves. I think sometimes we have to have permission to save ourselves, you know?”

“Well put, DeSoto,” Cap said. “You and Gage, as rescue men, are the ones this will affect most often. Not that any of us are immune to these circumstances; it’s just that you’re first on search and rescue, so it gets you the most. So I’m glad to hear you’re both with the program.”

“I could sure do without puking and hacking the way I did for a couple days just now,” Johnny admitted. “But more to the point, I could’ve done a better job as a medic, when I was needed as one, if I hadn’t just eaten so much smoke.”

“Well, we’re all here, and we’re all fine,” Cap said, sensing that the situation had entered tricky ground. “So let’s keep it that way, all right?”

“Amen to that, Cap,” Chet said.

“Good. Dismissed,” Cap said, finally.

~!~!~!~

The daytime part of the shift was average. Two alarm activations, a traffic accident with minor injuries, and two calls just for the squad. Just before lights out, the squad was sent to the far corner of their district, but was canceled by dispatch when they were three-quarters of the way there. They had fifteen minutes to chat on the return trip, without the sirens interfering with conversation.

“You’ve really been thinking a lot about that call, haven’t you,” Roy said.

“Yup. I meant every word I said this morning. Me an’ Mike had a lot of stuff to talk about the last couple weeks.”

“I know you did. I’m glad it seems like you worked things out.”

“Well, there was never any question about _that_ ,” Johnny said. “We woulda worked things between the two of us out, one way or the other. But I hafta say, it was pretty good timing with this new reg. Makes me feel like the promises I made to Mikey are all okay. It’s, I dunno, almost like someone at HQ was reading my mind.”

Roy smiled, but kept his eyes on the road. “Or maybe reading Cap’s report. I bet it was a doozy.”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah, he was pretty freaked out. Oh—you’ll appreciate this. When me and Mike got out of Rampart, he kept trying to get Mike to go stay at their place.”

“That could’ve been awkward,” Roy said.

“Oh, it _was_ awkward. But we set the place up to make it look like Mikey’d been sleeping on the couch, so at least Cap bought that part,” Johnny said.

“Good plan,” Roy said. “But back to these new regs. You’re really serious, aren’t you? That you’re okay with them? I mean, you’ve always been a big air sharer.”

“I know,” Johnny said. “But—well, I guess I get it, now, that we’re no good to the people we’re trying to help if we get put out of commission while we’re tryin’ to help ‘em. I mean, if I’d been one bit worse—one little bit, Roy—I might not’ve been able to do much for Mike. And it was stupid, stupid, stupid for me to not wait a couple minutes for the next squad to arrive. I just _had_ to handle it on my own, had to take care of him myself. Even though I know damned well I shoulda been a patient as well.”

“Not gonna argue with you there, Junior,” Roy said quietly. “I tried to get you to stay with our original patient, so I could look after Mike. But you were off like a shot.”

“I tell ya, Roy, it coulda gone bad, no matter who my patient was, if I’d eaten even a little more smoke. By the time we got to Rampart, I was hackin’ up a lung, and the puking started not too long after that. And I coulda had airway edema on the way to Rampart, and that woulda been a nasty party to be at,” Johnny said. “So yeah—I’ll be takin’ these new regs real seriously. No more sharing air with the people we’re rescuing.”

Roy nodded. “Okay. Good. I have to say, it’s a relief to hear you say that.”

“And don’t worry—I’m not gonna go back on my word the first time it comes up. Well, unless maybe if it’s a little kid. That’s a hard one,” Johnny said.

“Yeah,” Roy sighed. “I think we’ll all have a hard time not giving our air to kids.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent for a moment, but Roy could tell by Johnny’s demeanor that he still had more to say. He wasn’t surprised, when Johnny spoke up again a minute later.

“And there’s another thing, too.”

Roy smiled in the dark cab of the squad. “Thought so. What is it?”

“I’ve got someone I don’t wanna leave behind, now. That … changes things.”

“It sure does. I’ve been married the whole time I’ve been a fireman, so I haven’t experienced that particular change. But I remember clearly when it sunk in that if I got killed I’d be leaving a kid without a dad, my first big call after Chris was born,” Roy said.

“I bet,” Johnny said. “Must be even more intense with a kid than with a wife. Or a boyfriend.”

“I think so,” Roy said. “But what I’m saying is, I understand what you mean.”

“Yeah. I know ya do. Thanks.” Johnny cleared his throat. “I, uh … I’m sorry I never understood that, all these years we’ve worked together.”

“It’s okay. It’s the kind of thing you can’t really understand until you’re there yourself, you know?”

“Yeah. I do. And the weird thing is, me and Mike each have both sides of this whole thing. We’ve got your side, where we don’t wanna leave someone behind if we buy it. And we’ve also got Joanne’s side, where we worry about what the other guy is doing at work,” Johnny said.

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot,” Roy reiterated. “I’m sure Joanne would be happy to talk about her side of ‘this whole thing,’ as you call it.”

“We were thinkin’ about that,” Johnny said, “from something Mike and I were going over at—” Johnny stopped short when he realized there were at least fifteen reasons he really couldn’t say “at Mike’s shrink.”

“At what?” Roy asked, predictably.

“Never mind,” Johnny said. “But yeah—that might be useful, to see what Joanne has to say about making it through a day where she’s at home and you’re off doing who knows what kind of dangerous shit on the job.”

“Which is pretty much every day that I work,” Roy pointed out. “But hey—you said something the other day when we were on our way to that MVA, about Mike not having a good day, when you were back at work and he wasn’t. It was that, wasn’t it? Him worrying about you?”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah. That’s … one of the reasons that I think it’s actually gonna be okay for us to be stuck working together. ‘Cause he …” Johnny trailed off, again realizing he was crossing into territory that he didn’t think he should be sharing with Roy.

“Johnny, if it’s personal, like you said when I asked you about it that night, I don’t wanna pry. It’d be different, if it were a relationship where I didn’t really know the other person. But Mike? I’ve known him as long as I’ve known you. Not as well, of course, since he’s a little … hard to get to know, but you know what I mean.”

“I guess it is kinda personal,” Johnny said. “But damn it, Roy—you’re my best friend! I’m sposta be able to talk with you about stuff! And I can’t! Not with this! And it’s driving me crazy, keeping it all bottled up.”

Roy’s heart sank for Johnny. He knew his partner so well, that he was well aware how hard it was for him not to be able to talk about something that was bothering him. To say Johnny sometimes wore his heart on his sleeve would be an understatement. He thought for a long moment about how to fix this for his friend, and suddenly an idea occurred to him.

“Dixie,” Roy said. “Talk to her. She knows you real well, and she’s good at keeping things to herself, and she knows who Mike is, but just barely. In fact, you could lay the whole thing out for her but not say who the other party is.”

“But … but Roy, she doesn’t know that I’m … that Mike …”

“Johnny, first of all, like I said, you could avoid the topic of who the other person is. And second of all, she’s about the least judgmental and most fair person I know. You could tell her the whole story, and I doubt she’d bat an eye. Even though she’s seen you get shot down by half the nursing staff at Rampart.”

Roy couldn’t see Johnny’s face well, but could swear he could hear his eyebrows knitting together. “I guess so.”

“Hey, if you think it’s a terrible idea, you don’t have to do it. It was just a thought.”

“I’ll think about it,” Johnny said.

“Good.”

They drove on in silence, and backed into the apparatus bay just before eleven, half an hour after lights out. They were both surprised to see the light on in the day room; the men were supposed to be asleep in the dorm, but sometimes someone knew they wouldn’t be able to get to sleep and stayed up a while longer. Johnny had his suspicions of who it might be, so while Roy headed straight for the locker room, Johnny went through the other door, into the day room, to see if he was right.

He was right.

Mike was sitting at the table, hands wrapped around a cup of what Johnny really hoped was not regular coffee. He looked up when Johnny came in.

“Hey,” Mike said. “I wasn’t even close to tired at lights out, and then I heard you guys get canceled while I was brushing my teeth.”

“Yeah, it was a long trip for nothin’,” Johnny said. “I always wonder why we end up getting canceled. I mean, this one was for chest pain.”

Mike shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they decided to drive to the hospital themselves, or maybe the guy took some Tums and realized it was just indigestion. By the way, want some tea?”

Johnny shook his head. “It’s eleven o’clock, Mikey. I’m beat, and you really should be too. Everything okay?”

Mike hesitated for just long enough that Johnny got suspicious, but then he nodded.

Johnny sighed and plopped himself down on a chair. “Don’t do that, okay?”

Mike looked away. “Sorry. It’s just … well, we can’t really talk about it here anyhow.”

“Everyone’s in the dorms, except you and me. Just give me the gist, okay?”

“Okay,” Mike said. “It’s actually not about us, for a change. It’s something Cap said this morning.”

“Oh?”

Mike summarized the conversation he’d had with Cap in the office that morning. “And he reminded me that I should be going for a promotion in not too long.”

Johnny frowned. “Uh huh?”

“Well, what if I apply for a captaincy, but don’t get it? I mean, that’ll look bad on my record, right? And why would they promote me on a second application when they didn’t on the first? And what if they—”

Johnny held up a hand. “Stop, Mikey. Stop. So maybe you don’t get the promotion. You end up retiring on an engineer’s pension. That’s not so bad. And hell, a lotta guys don’t even make engineer! It’s no disgrace to not get a promotion to captain. Plus, is being a captain even _what_ you want to do? Or are you just thinking about it because it seems like the thing to do?”

Mike looked at Johnny with pleading eyes. “I don’t _know!_ But as soon as I start to think about it, I start to worry about what might happen.”

Johnny looked at Mike, and could see he was getting worked up into an anxious state.

“Look—you’re right; we can’t talk about this here. But you’re miserable, Mikey. I wish you didn’t get like that,” Johnny said.

“Believe me, so do I.” Mike put his forehead on the tabletop.

“Look—what would the doc tell you to do now?” Johnny asked.

“Oh. Uh, that’s a good point,” Mike said, picking his head up again. “I guess that just because this isn’t something I’ve gotten worked up by before, doesn’t mean that I can’t do what I’d do if I got worked up about one of my usual things.”

“Right,” Johnny said, trying not to let on that Mike’s upset feelings were becoming contagious, simply because Johnny felt so bad when Mike couldn’t stop thinking about something that was upsetting him.

“Geez, why didn’t I even _think_ of that?” Mike said, rubbing both temples with his fingers. “It’s usually so automatic—I get anxious, so I use one of the doc’s tips for getting out of the downward spiral. But this time? It was like I forgot that was even possible.”

“So … how ‘bout this? How about if you don’t beat yourself up over not remembering to do what the doc would tell you to do to get yourself settled down, and do it? And tomorrow morning, we’ll talk about it properly, okay?”

“Okay,” Mike said in a subdued tone. He pushed away from the table, poured the rest of his tea down the drain, and washed his mug. As he put it in the dish drainer, he frowned.

“Do you suppose,” he asked, “that me not remembering to use my strategies has anything to do with the concussion?”

Johnny blew out a long breath, extending the tense pause that Mike’s question had begun.

“Remember what the neurologist told you. That it’ll take a while to stop second-guessing yourself,” Johnny said. “He wouldn’t have cleared you to go back to work if he didn’t think you were just fine. Now c’mon. It’s really late. We can talk about this some more tomorrow, okay?”

Mike sighed. “Yeah. Okay. I guess I am kinda tired, after all.”

“Good. I still gotta wash up. See ya when we get a call.”

“Okay.”

Mike grabbed his bunker pants and boots off his gear rack, and tiptoed into the dorm, setting the bundle of gear down quietly next to his bunk. He pulled back the covers and stretched out on his bunk. He could hear someone snoring—probably Chet—as well as the familiar sounds of Johnny brushing his teeth, and then listened as Johnny climbed into his bunk. It was strange sleeping in the same room with him, but not _with_ him, but he’d gotten used to it once, and would adjust again.

As he waited to fall asleep, he thought about what the neurologist had said—how he’d likely be second-guessing himself for a while to come. He thought about how he’d failed to use the strategies that were once second-nature to him, to stop his circling “what-ifs” about applying for a promotion someday. Regardless of what Johnny said, Mike did think he was still having trouble controlling his own thoughts, far more than before the concussion.

There were the major freak-outs in the hospital, and the minor ones after they’d been discharged. And then there was the panic attack his father’s phone call had fortuitously interrupted. No, Mike thought, there was no question that getting his brains scrambled had done a number on his mental health, more than he’d really understood at his last appointment with Dr. Pritchard. Of course at that appointment, the focus had been him and Johnny, and how they could continue to work together.

Mike resolved to call Dr. Pritchard in the morning and make another appointment ahead of his next regularly scheduled session. In the meantime, he’d have to find some way to remind himself to use the strategies that helped him break out of intrusive, obsessive thought patterns, instead of succumbing to them as if he had no control.

He knew he could take control—he just had to remember to do it. And that included not keeping himself awake by worrying about any of this.

Mike rolled over onto his side, cursing the thin pillow, and took control of his thoughts. Rather than dwelling on his problems, he made a mental picture of the campground where he and Johnny had stayed when they had visited Sequoia National Park, and started walking through the area. He counted trees as he walked around, and thought about how the air smelled, and how soft the thick layer of centuries of pine needles felt under his feet as he walked. He thought about the hikes they did, and …

~!~!~!~

_Station 51, 0415_

BWAAAAAAAMP, BWOOOMP BWEEP!

Six men jerked out of sleep, fluorescent lights glaring above them, and automatically stepped into their boots, feet knowing from years of experience exactly where the boots had been placed.

“ _Station 110, Station 8, Station 51, structure fire with possible entrapment, 4163 Ashton Lane, 4-1-6-3 Ashton Lane, cross street Kennedy. Time out: 0416._ ”

Johnny’s heart beat quickly as he pulled his coat on and stepped into the squad. House fires in the wee hours were the deadliest, as people were asleep in their bedrooms, which were often upstairs and could be difficult to escape from. And in his experience, when dispatch said “possible entrapment,” it almost always meant there was actually someone—or several someones—still inside.

“We’re gonna have an ETA of at least twelve minutes,” Roy said. “This is at the far corner of 110’s district.”

Johnny got out the map book and navigated for Roy on the way to their destination. They listened to the radio chatter as first 110s, then 8s, arrived at the scene, where 110’s Captain Brundage immediately ordered a second alarm. Johnny’s heart sank when he heard Captain Brundage report that an entire family of six was unaccounted for, in a two-story single-family home, first floor fully involved. One of the first things that would happen in this situation would be that a hose crew would work on the first floor, trying to extinguish the fire, at the same time as rescue crews would search for people on the second floor.

Brundage was an extremely experienced incident commander, and was at the top of his game. He had Mike drop the crew and tools off at the scene, and do a reverse lay to a second hydrant at the other end of the block, to supply Engine 8. He ordered Johnny and Roy to pack up and report to him on their arrival, which likely meant they’d be sent in for search and rescue.

Mike would be stuck at a hydrant, away from the scene, not able to see what was going on. Johnny knew he’d hate that—not just because Mike always felt guilty about being safe when others weren’t, but because he knew Mike would be thinking about Johnny doing search and rescue.

But Johnny didn’t have time to worry about Mike. As soon as the squad pulled to a halt, he made sure all the buckles on his coat were closed, turned his collar up, and met Roy at the compartment that contained their SCBAs. They donned their packs, inspected each other briefly, and trooped over to where they saw Captain Brundage.

On their way they saw Squad 8’s paramedics working on three patients—two children and a man—who had been brought down in the first stages of the search. Johnny was relieved to hear the sounds of the patients coughing and retching, rather than the quietly sinister sound of ambu-bags pushing air into possibly useless lungs.

As they got to Engine 110, where Captain Brundage was, they could see that every other second-floor window had been laddered. Johnny became sure of what their assignment would be, as there were probably three people still inside.

“Squad 51, you’re on search and rescue, second floor. Start from the delta side—the neighbors report the two children that are still in there each have separate bedrooms on that side of the house. Work your way to the middle until you meet up with Squad 110.”

“Yessir,” Johnny said. He and Roy headed to the ladder on the delta side of the building—the side counterclockwise from the front. At the last possible moment, to conserve as much air as possible in their tanks of compressed air, they attached the regulators to their facemasks.

The ladder took them to a window, and the window led them inside a bedroom. Visibility was zero—the room was full of thick smoke, most of the way down to the floor. The heat in the room suggested that the fire was right outside the door, and definitely underneath them on the first floor. If they were going to find any living victims, it would have to be soon, unless the interior crews downstairs got the fire knocked down in a big hurry, Johnny thought.

Johnny and Roy had an established routine for searching a room quickly but thoroughly. It varied slightly from the standard routine, but it worked for them, so they did it their way. Johnny kept his right hand on the wall, and crawled through the room on his knees, counterclockwise, using his extended left arm to sweep the floor with the handle of his axe. He turned the corner, and his right hand encountered furniture—a bed!

Johnny lay flat on the floor, stretching his arm out, and swept the axe handle under the bed. He encountered what he was hoping to—a soft source of resistance.

“Roy! Victim! Charlie/delta corner!” Johnny shouted, directing Roy to his location in the back corner of the room. In the five seconds that it took for Roy to make his way around the edge of the room to Johnny’s location, Johnny had pulled a child who felt to be about five years of age from under the bed. The child was unconscious, and through his thick fire gloves, Johnny couldn’t tell whether the child was breathing.

Thirty seconds later, Johnny was on the ladder, and Roy was handing him the child. Johnny stepped down the ladder quickly but carefully, and popped the regulator off his face mask as soon as he had a hand free at the bottom of the ladder.

The child was a boy, and he wasn’t breathing.

Johnny rushed the boy over to the safe zone, Roy close at his heels. He set the child down on the tarp where Squad 8’s paramedics had worked on their three victims. 8’s medics and the victims were gone—the ambulance must have arrived.

Captain Stanley trotted over to them, air pack on his back.

“Roy, you take care of him. John, Brundage is sending me in with you. How are you for air?”

“Good,” Johnny said. “I was only on air for like three minutes. I’m good for another room.”

“Okay. You take the right-hand search, and I’ll take the left,” Cap said, giving Johnny the assignment he knew Johnny was used to.

Johnny and Cap headed up a ladder in the back of the house that Johnny thought would take them to the last bedroom remaining to be searched. He wasn’t the praying type, but he hoped with all his heart that they’d find a living child in that room. He knew the odds of a good outcome were slim—anyone still alive on the second floor had been breathing toxic smoke for at least twenty minutes, and possibly longer. Anyone on the fire-engulfed first floor was surely no longer alive.

Johnny went up the ladder first, and ducked into the room head first, staying as low as possible.

The room was hot, hot, hot, and Johnny thought he could see the glow of flames coming from the corner of the room that was near where he guessed the door to the hallway would be. He knew they only had a minute, or two at most, to complete their search, before the room became an environment that was too hot even for a firefighter in full gear, let alone a civilian in pajamas.

His hand felt a door, right where he thought it would be. He could feel the heat of the door even through his thick fire gloves. He was sure, absolutely positive, that the children's mother, who was still unaccounted for, was somewhere on the other side of that door.

He thought once, then twice. He thought a third time. Opening the door was out of the question. It was against every protocol in the book. But he knew, just _knew_ , that the mother was on the other side of the door. But he also knew he couldn’t open it. Not only would the flames from the hallway speedily engulf the room they were searching, but any spare oxygen in the room they were in—which had an open window—could set off a backdraft in the oxygen-starved hallway, blowing them all to kingdom come. But on the other hand, maybe it wouldn’t, and maybe he could save someone else.

But he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he couldn’t. That opening the door would just create at least one additional victim. Even if he survived, Mike would kill him, and Cap would probably fire him, and they’d both be within their rights to do so.

“Closet!” Johnny heard Cap’s muffled voice call from across the room. “Victim! Bravo side!”

Johnny chastised himself for wasting precious time, and quickly followed along the wall, staying lower than the flames that were beginning to breach the top of the door he had to pass by. He could feel his neck and wrists, the least protected parts, getting too hot, but he knew he could take it for the short period of time required to extricate their victim.

As he and Cap moved their victim around the edges of the room, the air got hotter and hotter, and the hot air got lower and lower in the room. They stayed as low as possible, but it was still scorching hot. There was no doubt that their victim, if the child was still alive, would have the serious problem of burns to the airway, from breathing in hot gases. Even if it were still allowed, Johnny wasn’t tempted to share his air with their victim, as just one breath of the superheated air could incapacitate him before the rescue was completed.

Just when they got to the window, flames started rolling over the ceiling, barely visible through the heavy smoke.

“Let’s move it!” Cap shouted, shoving Johnny towards the window and handing the child through to him. Johnny took the child, who was about nine or ten, down the ladder as fast as he could, knowing Cap would need to be out of that room in seconds. Sure enough, just after Cap’s lanky form emerged onto the ladder, flames burst through the window, passing directly over Cap’s head.

Johnny rushed the child over to the safe zone, where Roy had just finished putting an IV and an airway in the first child they’d rescued. Johnny laid his burden down, and began examining the child.

“Crap,” he muttered. The child wasn’t breathing, and had only a faint pulse. His mouth and nose were covered with soot, indicating that he’d breathed in hot smoke. Skin that Johnny could see was reddened, and some blisters were beginning to form. Johnny tried to puff some air into the child’s lungs with the ambu-bag. Some air went in, but there was resistance, indicating that there was major swelling in the airway.

“Roy, I gotta intubate this kid right now,” Johnny said. “Can you give me a hand here?”

Captain Stanley took over squeezing the ambu-bag for the first patient, while Roy switched his attention to the second child. Johnny was just barely able to pass an infant-sized tube between the child’s vocal cords, and heaved a sigh of relief. The tube was the only thing that would possibly save the child’s life. If it could even be saved.

Johnny took a turn with the biophone, and reported his patient’s condition to Rampart.

~!~!~!~

Down the block at the hydrant on the far corner, Mike gritted his teeth in frustration as he saw flames burst through the roof of the house. He’d been able to contain his anxiety about the certainty that Johnny would be entering the structure, but when he saw that the fire was growing rather than shrinking, he felt like he was going to explode right along with the hot gases inside the house. He took comfort in the routine and repetitive task of monitoring the pump pressure and the pressure in the supply lines sending water to Engine 8. He buried himself and his fears in the numbers on the dials, letting the flow of water and the thrumming of the engine in pump gear calm him.

He’d been following the radio chatter as well as possible over the noise of the engine and the pump, and hadn’t heard anything that suggested any firefighters were in trouble. He’d heard the incident commander order two more ambulances to be dispatched, early in the operation, which suggested that the rescue crews had pulled some live victims from the fire.

A few minutes after the flames showed through the roof of the structure, Mike heard three long blasts from the air horn of an engine—the signal for everyone to evacuate the structure. Mike’s feelings were highly mixed at that announcement. On the one hand, the firefighters would be safer working in defensive mode, protecting exposures and trying to surround and drown the fire from the outside. On the other hand, it was an acknowledgment that the structure was a loss, and that any victims still inside couldn’t have survived.

After half an hour or so, the fire was declared to be under control, though there were still hours of work left to do on the scene. Mike waited patiently at his engine, minding the pump, as the sun rose, its feeble first rays filtering through the smoke still rising from the heap of timbers inside the dead skeleton of what used to be a home filled with life.

Mike hoped they’d found everyone, but shortly after sunrise, he heard Captain Brundage use the 10-79 radio code that called for the County Coroner, and he knew what everyone closer to the scene had known for hours: one of the people hadn’t made it out, and the body had been found.

“Please let it not be a kid,” Mike said out loud, even though there was nobody there to hear.

Mike knew that regardless of who hadn’t made it, Johnny would be a wreck. There was nothing worse than being charged with finding victims, and not being able to find them all before the situation became untenable.

Without being able to see a thing at the scene itself, Mike could imagine what the firefighters were doing: sifting through debris, looking for hot spots that could rekindle the fire if they weren’t cooled with copious quantities of water. Turning over piles of wet, charred wood, wondering if this load, when lifted, would reveal the unrecognizable body of a person they hadn’t found in their searches.

Just after seven, units started to be released from the scene. Crews would likely be there all day, but less manpower was needed in the overhaul and salvage stages than earlier on. Mike waved to the driver of Squad 8 as they passed by his corner, looking exhausted and defeated. A few minutes later, Mike got the call to shut down his supply operation. He shut down his pump, disconnected the dual supply lines from the hydrant, and began walking the lines, disconnecting the couplings every hundred feet so the lines could be drained before being loaded back on the engine.

Marco joined him, running each hundred-foot length of hose over their shoulders to drain out the water, and they started repacking the drained hose onto the hosebed of Engine 51.

“Man, you were lucky to be back here for this one,” Marco commented. “It was a bad one.”

“Sounded like it,” Mike said, trying not to get annoyed about Marco’s assumption that it was happier to be out of the way at a hydrant than in the action. “Did anyone make it?” He couldn’t help thinking of the house fire where all four members of the family had died, shortly after he and Johnny had gotten together, but long before Johnny was back at work.

“Well, the dad and two of the kids were at a bedroom window when 110s arrived—they should be fine. Johnny and Roy pulled out another kid, who might or might not make it, and then Johnny and Cap got the last kid. He … I don’t know, Mike. The squad got released from the scene after the last victim was transported, but … the kid was in there for so long that … I don’t know.” Marco shook his head. “And the mom didn’t make it.”

Mike looked at the ground. “I heard Captain Brundage’s 10-79. I didn’t know who it was. I couldn’t tell what was going on, this far away, except that it wasn’t going well.”

Marco sighed. “The first floor was fully involved, with fully-developed fire, by the time we got there. It was all we could do to keep it at bay enough to give the rescue crews time to get people out. Cap told Brundage not to send anyone else in right after they pulled out the last kid; I guess the second-floor rooms were starting to flash over.”

“Crap,” Mike said.

“The place felt like it was built with match sticks and string, Mike. Everything was combustible. The fire spread so fast it was amazing anyone got out.”

Mike looked around the neighborhood. It was a post-war suburban development, built when housing was booming and fire codes weren’t. Probably every house on the block was constructed the same way. He sighed, and they worked silently to pack up the rest of the hose.

Half an hour later, they were done, and Engine 51 and her crew were released from the scene. Mike drove back carefully, and tried not to listen to the dead silence in the cab behind him. It was 0830 by the time they got back to the station, and B-shift was already there.

Mike peeked quickly into the parking lot. The Rover was gone. He returned to the station.

“I’m gonna shower at home,” he said to Captain Stanley, who was the next least filthy after Mike. “See you next shift.”

“All right, pal,” Cap said. Nobody said “have a good day,” because everyone knew their day would be broody and dark.

Mike changed into his civvies, and was quickly on his way to Johnny’s. On the short drive, he realized what had happened during today’s incident: he’d made it through a fire where he knew Johnny would be in danger, but where he himself couldn’t tell what was going on. He didn’t panic. He didn’t freak out. He didn’t behave abnormally in any way. If he weren’t so tired, he’d be proud of himself.

He couldn’t even imagine how beaten down Johnny must be. All Mike did was make a hydrant, monitor the pump, and repack some hose. Johnny had spent who knows how long in fifty pounds of gear, breathing compressed air while crawling around on his knees in a hot smoky room, and had then had to treat the people he’d carried down ladders.

When he got to Johnny’s apartment and let himself in, he could hear the shower running. He didn’t want to startle Johnny by just getting into the shower with him with no warning, so he called into the bathroom.

“Hey, babe. I’m coming in.”

“Good,” Johnny said. With just that one word, Mike could hear the defeat and the utter exhaustion in Johnny’s voice.

Mike went into Johnny’s bedroom and stripped down. He padded across the hall into the bathroom. The walls and mirror were dripping with condensation. The smell of soot was strong, buoyed by the moisture in the air. He couldn’t smell soap or shampoo. He suspected that Johnny had been in there, probably just standing there, for a long, long time. He pulled back the curtain and silently entered the shower enclosure, to find Johnny standing there with his forehead against the wall, water pouring down his back.

It was cold where Mike stood, in the fine spray bouncing off Johnny, but away from the spray coming from the shower head. But he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around Johnny from behind.

“I heard it was bad,” Mike said.

Johnny pulled his head away from the wall and nodded. He straightened up, and turned to face Mike, who loosened his grasp enough to let Johnny turn around.

“It sucked,” he said flatly, and Mike could tell from the set of Johnny’s jaw that he wasn’t going to say anything else.

“All right,” Mike said, cupping Johnny’s cheek in his hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.” He took Johnny’s hand, gently unclenching his fingers from the fist they’d been in for some time, and kissed the palm. There were tiny crescent-shaped marks where his fingernails had dug into the skin, and his fingertips were wrinkled and pruny.

“How long have you been in here?” Mike asked, unclenching Johnny’s other fist.

“Dunno,” Johnny said. “Not long enough to wash off all the death.”

“Okay,” Mike said gently. “Let’s wash up, and go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, but made no move to get started. He stared at the floor of the shower, causing Mike to wonder what he was seeing in the water flowing down the floor of the tub.

Mike reached past Johnny to the shower caddy hanging off the pipe of the shower head, and grabbed Johnny’s washcloth. He soaped it up, and started washing Johnny, gently proceeding from top to bottom. He turned him gently under the spray so he would get rinsed off.

“Close your eyes, babe,” Mike said.

Johnny closed his eyes, and Mike shampooed his hair for him, and then tipped his head back into the spray to rinse. The rinse water smelled sooty, but ran clear.

Mike quickly cleaned himself up, and shut the water off.

“C’mon, Johnny, you need to get out.”

Johnny stepped over the edge of the tub, and let Mike dry him off. Mike dried himself off quickly, and led Johnny into the bedroom. He pulled back the covers, and Johnny fell in as if the bed were a black hole with irresistible gravitational forces. Mike lay next to him, facing him, holding Johnny as much as he would allow, gently stroking his back.

Johnny made the sound he sometimes made before he was about to say something. Mike waited.

“Some days I just can’t take it, Mikey. All the death. I pulled out two kids today. One of ‘em didn’t make it to the hospital. The other is critical in the burn unit, along with smoke inhalation and airway burns. Their mom is mostly cinders and charred bones. And what’d I do to help? Nothin’, that’s what.”

Mike knew that there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t sound trite, so he kept his mouth shut, and spoke with the warmth of his body and the comforting touch of his hands. After a minute, Johnny looked at Mike.

“And I thought three times, Mike. I _promise_ I did. I didn’t open the hallway door, even though I knew the mom would be there. And there was one time when I thought, huh, maybe Cap an’ I oughta just turn around and get out before this place flashes over on us, but then Cap found the kid in the closet. We got ‘im out, me an’ Cap. Then he flatlined in the rig on the way over, and I couldn’t get him back.”

“Jesus, Johnny. I’m sorry,” Mike said, stroking the back of Johnny’s neck as he buried his face in Mike’s neck.

They stayed like that, with Johnny nearly fetal in Mike’s protective arms, until they both finally fell asleep.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you’d like to be scared by the power of fire sometime, go to youtube and search on “living room to inferno.” You’ll get to see a room flash over in two minutes, in a controlled setting. Also: nobody would ever, _ever_ open the door Johnny was thinking about opening. Finally: real smoke, in a real fire, is _nothing_ like what you see on the show. It’s so thick and black you can’t see a raging fire a meter in front of you. You can tell where the fire is by listening, and by feeling where the heat is coming from.


	40. Uneasy

  


**Chapter 40: Uneasy**

  


Johnny woke before Mike, jerking awake after what must have been a bad dream that he couldn’t remember. His heart was pounding, his skin was sweaty, and he had a feeling of unease. He was relieved to see that his abrupt wakening hadn’t disturbed Mike, who was still sleeping tranquilly.

He looked at the clock—not quite one in the afternoon. It was later than he usually slept after a shift, but his last shift had been a doozy. He knew he’d have trouble getting to sleep later, but he also knew the best way to recover mentally and physically from a shift like that was to sleep until he woke on his own.

He knew Mike wouldn’t want to sleep much longer, so he shook off his nondescript feeling of uneasiness, and set about waking him up. Mike lay on his back, with his arms over his head, which was how he almost always woke in the morning. Johnny made sure his hands weren’t cold, and started slowly rubbing small circles on Mike’s belly. Mike didn’t stir in the slightest, so Johnny expanded his movements, stroking upwards to Mike’s chest, and downwards to his cock.

Mike shifted slightly, and made a small sound, but didn’t really seem to be waking up. Johnny realized his attentions must be getting incorporated into a dream, so he decided to have a little fun. He pushed the covers, which were mostly towards the foot of the bed anyhow, away, and positioned himself lower. Mike had one knee splayed to the side, which gave Johnny plenty of room for what he wanted to do.

He stroked his hand up the inside of Mike’s open leg, making him moan slightly in his sleep as his hand continued upwards to grasp Mike’s half-hard cock gently. He held it up with his hand, while he ducked his head down to take it in his mouth, swirling slowly around the head with his tongue.

Mike made a sound halfway between a moan and a sigh, and mumbled a string of syllables in which all Johnny could understand was his own name. His eyes were still closed, and he hadn’t moved, which convinced Johnny that he was still sound asleep.

Johnny knew he needed to fix that before he went any farther, so he straddled Mike’s body and started working his way up the midline with kisses. By the time he got to his neck, Mike was definitely waking up, chuckling and wrapping his arms around Johnny. Just before Johnny’s kisses reached Mike’s lips, Mike spoke up.

“You have anything to do with that terrific dream I was just having?”

“Mm hmmm,” Johnny said. “Was I in it?”

“Definitely,” Mike said, tipping his head back as Johnny kissed his neck. “But the weird thing was, we were at the station. Everyone else was gone, and it was just you and me left in the bay, and you were blowing me in the cab of the engine. I was in Marco’s seat, and I was stark naked, but you were in full gear and an air pack. And actually, I don’t know how you were blowing me with the mask on, but somehow it was working. And—”

“Okay, Stoker, you know what? That’s weird. Don’t tell me any more,” Johnny said, kissing Mike on the lips to enforce his order.

The kiss became heated as their naked bodies came together. Johnny was slightly chilled from waking up in a cold sweat, and shivered as an image from the nightmare he thought he didn’t remember flashed through his mind.

“You okay?” Mike murmured into his neck.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am now. Just got a little cold earlier.”

“Lemme fix that,” Mike said, rolling them so Johnny was underneath him. “What do you want?” he whispered in Johnny’s ear. “What’s gonna make you feel good, after feeling so bad? Anything you want, babe.”

Johnny whimpered despite himself, at the sheer pleasure of having Mike understand him so well. He knew he could say anything, and Mike wouldn’t judge him.

“Fuck me,” Johnny said, his voice barely above a whisper, but it didn’t need to be, because Mike was right there, listening intently. “Fuck me into next week, so hard I’ll know I’m alive, and that you’re alive. Face-to-face, just like that first time.”

Mike responded by opening the nightstand drawer, and setting the lube down within easy reach of the bed. He twined their hands together, and kissed Johnny on the lips again.

“You got it,” Mike said, as soon as they came up for air.

Mike began doing the reverse of what Johnny had done to him earlier, kissing a path down the center of Johnny’s chest. He took a detour at each nipple, spending what some might deem excessive time there, but Mike knew it got Johnny really hot, so it was time well spent. He continued on downwards, marveling for the millionth time at the smoothness of Johnny’s chest and abdomen, the slender but defined musculature, and Johnny’s responsiveness to his touch.

Johnny arched up to him, and pulled himself to a sitting position, with Mike ending up straddling his lap. Mike found himself being kissed, found Johnny’s hands all over him. Their tongues slid across each other, in and out of each other’s mouths, and their hands were everywhere they could reach. Johnny’s mouth moved sideways, across Mike’s jawline, then nibbled his earlobe before taking a trip down his neck.

They stayed in this position for several minutes, until they were both so aware of their cocks sliding between their bodies that they couldn’t ignore them any more. Mike laid Johnny back down on the bed, and they were both breathing hard and fast.

Johnny reached over his head and grabbed the lube, passing it down to Mike, who flipped open the cap and squeezed some gel onto the palm of his hand to warm it. The thought crossed his mind, briefly, that perhaps Johnny had purposely interrupted Mike’s previous slow and gentle lovemaking to get Mike heated up a bit more before the main event, but he didn’t mind. It had worked, in any case. Mike started with one finger circling Johnny’s hole, and could hardly restrain himself from just pouncing on Johnny and fucking him without any prep, but he wasn’t going to let Johnny manipulate him into doing quite that.

Johnny urged him on, begging for more and thrusting his body up, impaling himself on Mike’s finger, then two fingers.

“Fuck,” Mike said, and swiped lube over his cock, not even caring that the gel was cold, fresh out of the tube. He lined himself up at Johnny’s entrance, and before he could push in slowly, Johnny preemptively thrust his hips up at just the right angle. Mike reflexively pushed back towards Johnny, without meaning to, and they both groaned as Mike was balls-deep nearly instantly. Johnny clamped his legs around Mike’s waist, not letting him pull away.

Mike tried to say something along the lines of “you’ve got me right where you want me,” but all that came out was “hhnnnnggghh,” as Johnny loosened the hold of his legs and started moving under Mike. Mike followed his lead, and soon they were locked in a rhythm that Mike knew would have them both coming soon. After a few minutes, he adjusted his angle slightly, and started pumping Johnny’s cock in time with his thrusts. Johnny’s moans on each stroke got louder, and Mike’s sounds blended with his in a perfect kind of harmony.

Mike picked up his pace, and Johnny clutched his ass with both hands, urging him on. Mike could feel the tension growing in both their bodies. Johnny came first, just barely, and they clutched each other almost desperately.

Johnny once again wrapped his legs around Mike’s waist, wanting to keep him inside as long as possible. They stroked and petted each other, kissing all the while.

Johnny was uncharacteristically quiet and still, but Mike knew that he shouldn’t ask him any questions at the moment. He just continued holding him, and stayed in him until oversensitivity got the best of him and he had to pull out. They both winced at that moment, suggesting that there could be too much of a good thing.

“Yep, definitely still alive. Thanks, babe,” Johnny said quietly, rolling to his side and pulling Mike with him so they remained in constant contact, face to face.

Mike chuckled and kissed Johnny. “Believe me, the pleasure was mine, too. You, uh, okay? That was a little—”

“It was a little _perfect_ , is what it was. ‘Zactly what I needed.”

“Me too,” Mike realized.

Johnny traced lazy figures on Mike’s back with his fingers, thinking about how different the morning after such a fire would have been just six months ago, before he and Mike got together. He probably would’ve had a few drinks, at eight in the morning, just to allow himself to find the forgetfulness of sleep. Then he probably would have gone out later and picked up some random stranger who he thought could fuck him into oblivion. The whole experience would end in self-loathing and guilt, without any actual comfort—just various ways to feel alive, but avoid any actual emotions, in a vacuum, passing the time until the next shift could be better than the last one.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate not having to fucking explain anything right now,” Mike said.

“Yeah, I hear ya. I was just thinkin’ about how badly I woulda behaved today and tomorrow if I didn’t have you.”

They lay there together and appreciated each other quietly for a while longer, until they both became aware of another physical need when Johnny’s stomach growled.

“Well, I guess we oughta get up,” Mike said, making no moves in that direction at all.

“Guess so,” Johnny said, snuggling in closer to Mike.

The phone rang, its sharp metallic sound just as jarring as the station’s klaxons. Johnny sighed, and reached over Mike to pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey, Johnny, it’s Chet._ ”

“Hey Chet. What’s up?”

There was a brief silence on the line, which was so unusual for Chet that Johnny frowned before Chet even said anything.

“You all right?” Johnny asked, when the silence extended for several more seconds.

“ _Not really,_ ” Chet finally admitted. “ _I … uh … I’m kinda having hard time, I guess._ ”

Johnny didn’t need to ask what he meant. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It was a particularly bad one. You need to talk it out?”

“ _Yeah, that’d be great, Johnny_ ,” Chet said. Johnny could hear the relief in Chet’s voice at not actually having to ask for what he needed. “ _Could we, I don’t know, maybe get a burger later?_ ”

“Umm … can I call you back in like five minutes?”

“ _Sure—I mean, if you have plans, I can do whenever._ ”

“No, it should be fine—I just need to check one thing, and I’ll call ya right back.”

They hung up, and Johnny looked at Mike.

“I should do this,” Johnny said.

“Of course,” Mike said. “I thought he usually talked to Marco, though.”

“Yeah, but I heard Marco mention something yesterday evening about some family thing going on tonight, so I bet he’s busy. I don’t mind being second string. But I should do it. He doesn’t have a lot of people he’ll really talk to.”

“Hmm, that sounds familiar,” Mike said. “So of course you should meet up with him. Whatever works for him is fine with me.”

“Thanks. He suggested a burger later, so probably dinner time.”

“That’s fine. Why don’t we plan on meeting up at my house after that?”

“Good. Thanks for understanding,” Johnny said.

“Hey—I don’t own you, and I never want to get in the way of your other friendships. If … if the world were different, we could include each other in our other friendships, but … it’s not.”

“It’s not,” Johnny agreed. “Not yet.”

“Maybe … maybe I’ll try to call my dad tonight,” Mike said. “While you’re out.”

“Good idea,” Johnny said. He leaned over and kissed Mike, and it ended up lasting longer than either of them expected.

“What was that for?” Mike asked.

“Just … because.”

“Okay,” Mike said. “I’ll take it.”

“I gotta call Kelly back.”

“I’ll start some lunch. Partly to get us some food, and partly to get out of earshot. Wouldn’t do if I sneezed or coughed or something. Plus I have this perpetual fear that I’ll blurt something out really loudly while you’re on the phone with someone we know.”

“Um, why would you do that? I mean, that can’t happen by accident,” Johnny said.

“Well, I _know_ it can’t happen by accident, but that somehow doesn’t stop me from thinking I’ll do it,” Mike said.

“Huh?”

Mike shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll just … go make lunch.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Johnny watched as Mike pulled on boxers, jeans, and a t-shirt before leaving the room, closing the door on his way out.

Johnny picked up the phone again and dialed Chet’s number, all the while wondering what he’d done to deserve such a considerate boyfriend.

“ _Hello_?”

“Hey, it’s Johnny. Any time is fine.”

“ _Great_ ,” Chet said. “ _Would like … soonish be okay?_ ”

“Sure,” Johnny said. He suggested a decent burger joint that was near Chet’s neighborhood, between Johnny’s place and Mike’s house.

“ _Or I could come down to your neighborhood,_ ” Chet said.

“Nah, I got good sleep, somehow, so I’ll go up to you. It’ll probably take me …” Johnny calculated dressing, revising plans with Mike, and getting to Chet’s neighborhood. “Let’s say half an hour.”

“ _Thanks. See you then._ ”

Johnny got dressed, and went out to the kitchen.

“So, uh, change in plans. He’s pretty desperate, I think—he suggested meeting up as soon as possible. I kinda think from how he sounded that he didn’t sleep at all.”

Mike winced. “Ouch. Well, you go on ahead. I’ll just have a sandwich, and then I guess I’ll go to my place.”

“Okay. I’ll see you there.”

“And don’t worry about it if he needs to talk for a long time, okay?”

“Okay. Though I don’t think I can take it that long, actually. Not because it’s Chet, but because I’ll burn out on the topic.”

“Yeah, I know. But—I’ll see you when I see you, okay?”

“Thanks,” Johnny said. He kissed Mike goodbye, and left the apartment.

~!~!~!~

Chet sat in a booth in the back of the diner, having his umpteenth cup of coffee of the day.

“You look terrible, hon,” the waitress said, as she poured a warm-up into his cup. “Everything okay?”

“Thanks, Mindy. We had a bad fire last night,” Chet said.

“Oh, I see,” Mindy said, although Chet knew perfectly well that she didn’t, and couldn’t, ‘see.’ “Was there a lot of damage?”

Chet usually liked Mindy, but he was at the end of his rope, after not having slept at all after the fire. “There was a lot of _death_ ,” he snapped.

Mindy recoiled. “Sorry. I, uh, I guess I thought that didn’t happen much any more. People dying in fires.”

Chet rubbed his temples. “No, I’m sorry. I’m pretty frazzled. I didn’t mean to snap. And you’re right—there are a lot fewer fatal fires than there were twenty years ago, but we could still do better. A _lot_ better.”

“I remember when you taught all the guys in the kitchen the right way to use a fire extinguisher,” Mindy said. “That’s one thing that’s better already.”

A small smile sneaked its way onto Chet’s face. “Good,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Mindy said.

“Hey, there’s my buddy,” Chet said, waving to Johnny.

Mindy turned over the cup at the place across from Chet’s and poured the coffee. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes to take your orders, she said, as Johnny sat down.

“Looks like you didn’t sleep,” Johnny said to Chet.

Chet nodded. “I tried—I really did. But … you know.”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

Chet sighed, and opened the menu, which he didn’t really need to do. “I don’t even really know what I wanna say.”

“I think this one got to all of us,” Johnny said.

“I don’t know why it feels worse than the one where that whole family died,” Chet said, “but it does.”

“I wasn’t back yet for that one,” Johnny said. “So I can’t help there.

“Oh, right. But—maybe it’s because the fire really got away from us on this one.”

“Come on, Chet. You saw how crappily that place was constructed,” Johnny said. “The fire got away from us because the whole place was made out of kindling. Throw in a bunch of flammable synthetic curtains and furniture and shit, and you’ve got a toxic fire waiting to happen. Cap said it himself, man. We did what we could, but it was a bad situation well before we got there.”

Chet frowned. “Yeah, I know—but hey, how’d you know Cap said that? The squad was off on other runs at that point.”

“Oh—uh, I had breakfast with Stoker. He musta told me,” Johnny said, kicking himself.

Chet shook his head. “Man, all I wanted to do this morning was just go crash. But I guess Stoker had it easy today, bein’ all the way on the corner like that.”

“Oh, man. You better _never_ say that to Mike’s face, Chet,” Johnny said.

“Huh? Why?”

“Well, it might _seem_ like it’s better to be away from the action, but think about it this way: how would you like it if all your buddies were in a situation like we had today, and you were just sittin’ there watching? Or, even worse, so far away that you can’t see what’s happening?” Johnny said, voice raised without his even meaning to shout. He took a deep breath, as he realized he was close to losing it with Chet, who really didn’t need that.

Chet blinked at him, shocked at Johnny’s touchiness.

“Sorry, sorry,” Johnny said. “I didn’t mean to get mad.”

Chet sighed. “It’s all right. We’re all on edge.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess the thing is,” Chet said, “I’m just sick of having shifts like that, and then … going home to nothing. Ya know?”

Johnny nodded.

“Cap and Roy, they’re lucky. They can go home to their wives, their kids. Go from the death to the life. Marco—he lives with his mom and sisters. But us single guys … man, this is one of those times that I’m startin’ to think about being done with bachelorhood.” Chet looked up at Johnny across the table. “You ever think about settling down, gettin’ married? I mean, it seems pretty serious with this girl you won’t tell me about.”

Johnny’s eyes darted back and forth. He hadn’t bargained on this being part of the conversation. “Um … I … don’t think we’ll get married.”

“Why not?” Chet said. “I mean, you seem so happy with her.”

“Uh …”

“Sorry, I can tell you don’t like it when I ask about her. I don’t get it, though.”

“Can we … can we just drop this, Chet?”

“Okay. Sure.” Chet frowned into his coffee.

“Sorry,” Johnny said, rubbing his temples. “Again. I’m supposed to be helping you out here, and all we seem to be doing is pissing each other off.”

“I seem to be finding invisible buttons to push,” Chet said.

Johnny snorted lightly. “I guess I’ve got ‘em all over the place. Anyhow. What’s gonna help you today? Besides me yelling in your face, which doesn’t seem to be doing much good.”

Chet smiled slightly. “Just … being around people who get it. I mean, I’ve got plenty of friends—baseball team guys, and bowling league, and buddies from high school—but guys from the department are the only ones who get it.”

“Yeah, we are, aren’t we.” Johnny tapped his menu. “So—what’s good?”

Johnny and Chet ordered food, and talked about nothing in particular, while downing a great deal of coffee. As they ate, the color started to return to Chet’s face, and he started talking more like he normally did.

“So. I’m not gonna ask you about your girl. But you and Stoker got pretty chummy over the last couple months. What can you tell me about _his_ girl?” Chet asked, a sly grin on his face.

“Good grief, Kelly! Can’t you let it rest?”

“I mean, you guys hang out all the time, so you gotta know _somethin_ ’ about her. I bet she’s smart—I bet she was a college girl. I bet she’s short—the tall guys always seem to get the petite chicks, which I have to say is pretty unfair. Oh—and I bet she talks more than him. Not that _that_ would be hard.”

Johnny couldn’t help himself, and laughed out loud. He howled and pounded the table so hard the dishes jumped. People from across the diner stared at them, but Johnny couldn’t stop. He realized he’d completely lost control, and was reacting far more outrageously than was appropriate.

“Oh, man are you wrong!” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “But I really don’t think he’d like it if I blabbed about his private business.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thought it was worth one last try. C’mon. There’s some batting cages not too far from here. Let’s go knock some baseballs around.”

~!~!~!~

Ninety minutes later, Chet and Johnny headed their separate ways. Chet went back to his apartment, and Johnny headed to Mike’s.

Chet opened the door to his small apartment, put his keys on a shelf by the door, and sighed. The apartment was full of things, but felt nothing but empty. He’d thought about getting a dog, but there was no way it would work, with 24-hour shifts. He didn’t dislike cats, per se, but … he just didn’t see himself as a cat kind of guy.

“Maybe I should get one anyhow,” he said aloud, “just because.”

He didn’t really feel like sitting around in his empty apartment. He glanced at the department’s shift calendar, and saw that B-shift was on. He thought about who he knew on C-shift who might want to hang out. He got out his address book and made a call to a friend of his from his first station, who was now working C-shift out of 110s. That friend was busy, as were the other two he called. Chet sighed, and decided to call Mike Stoker. Heck, he didn’t know the guy well, and he sure seemed to be pretty tied up with that girl of his, even though he never said diddly about her, and his secretiveness seemed to have rubbed off on Gage. But, Chet thought, maybe Mike would need some understanding company tonight as well.

“ _Hello_?”

“Hey Mike. It’s Chet.”

“ _Chet—how are you doing?_ ”

“Uh, you know. Not so hot after this morning.”

“ _Yeah, I hear ya. What’s up?_ ”

“Well, I was gonna head out for a quick beer, and was lookin’ to see if any of you guys wanted to come.”

Chet heard a door slam, and then heard a male voice call out loudly.

“ _Hey Mikey!_ ”

“ _Uh, hang on a second, Chet,_ ” Mike said hastily.

Chet heard the rustling sound that a hand makes when it covers the talking end of a telephone receiver, and then nothing for about ten seconds.

“ _Sorry about that,_ ” he heard Mike say. “ _I’ve, uh, got a friend staying with me._ ”

“Oh—no problem. Don’t worry about it, man. We can have a beer some other time.”

“ _You sure?_ ”

“Yeah, no big deal. Some other time.”

“ _Okay. Sounds good, Chet. See ya at the next shift._ ”

Chet put the phone down, and picked up the full bottle of Jack Daniel’s that was sitting next to him.

~!~!~!~

0115, Mike’s house.

The phone rang, jarring both Mike and Johnny out of a sound sleep.

Mike’s heart instantly started pounding rapidly. There weren’t very many happy reasons why someone would be calling at one in the morning. He reluctantly rolled away from Johnny, and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“ _Mike? It’s Marco. It’s kind of an emergency._ ”

Mike sat up, instantly alert, but no less concerned. “Uh-oh—what’s going on?”

“ _I just got a call from Chet—he’s drunk out of his mind, and I don’t think he’s okay, and it’ll take me half an hour to get there from my place, and Johnny’s not picking up, and you’re only ten minutes from his apartment, so I’m hoping you could—_ ”

“Absolutely. We—I’ll be right over. What’s his apartment number again?”

Marco gave Mike the address. Johnny was already pulling his jeans on when Mike hung up.

“What’s happening?”

“Marco’s really worried about Chet. He just called him, really drunk, and Marco thinks he’s in trouble. I was the closest person he could get a hold of.”

“Let’s go,” Johnny said.

“But if we both show up—”

“Let’s _go_!” Johnny repeated. “We’ll take my car—I’ve got some basic supplies in there.”

Mike did some fast thinking in the car on the way to Chet’s.

“Okay—I apparently knew where to find you tonight, and you were on my way, and I thought it would be handy to have a paramedic along.”

“Perfect,” Johnny said. The tires screeched as he pulled into the parking lot in front of Chet’s building. “Mikey, you grab the, uh, tire iron and yeah—that hatchet. Not quite an ax and a halligan, but better than nothin’ if we have to break in.”

Johnny grabbed the duffel in which he kept some basic EMS supplies, and the two of them ran up the stairs, looking for all the world like a pair of burglars.

Johnny pounded on Chet’s door, using a fireman’s knock, which would disturb the neighbors, but so what. “Chet? Chet? It’s Johnny! C’mon, now, answer the door!”

There was the crash of something breaking, and some indistinct noises that could have been vomiting.

“That’s it—we need to get in there,” Johnny said. He stepped aside to let Mike pry the door open with the tools they’d brought.

Mike tried the door, first, and of course it was locked. He looked under the doormat, and didn’t see a key. Johnny felt along the top of the doorframe, and found nothing but some dead spiders. Mike jammed the flat end of the tire iron between the door and the frame, and was about to strike it with the flat end of the hatchet’s head when Johnny shouted.

“Hold it!”

He held up a dirty key.

“In the plant,” he said, and opened the door.

Chet was face down on the floor, next to a broken bottle, a small puddle of booze, and a larger puddle of vomit which reeked sourly of alcohol. His left hand was bloody, and was weakly clutching part of the broken bottle.

“Crap,” Johnny muttered. “Let’s get him on his side.”

They rolled Chet over, so his face was away from the mess. Johnny checked that his airway was open, and that he was breathing.

“Chet?” Johnny said loudly, right in Chet’s ear. When he didn’t get a response, he rubbed Chet’s sternum with his knuckles, which made him stir and mumble, but not wake up. “Man, you really messed yourself up, pal. Mikey, hand me that stethoscope out of my bag, will ya? I wanna listen to his lungs.”

He took the stethoscope from Mike, and listened to several places on Chet’s back and chest.

“Okay—he sounds clear. His respirations are pretty depressed, though, and something should be done about that hand.” He put his BP cuff around Chet’s arm, and got a reading. “Ninety over fifty,” he said. “Not good, but I’ve seen worse. Wish I had some IV fluids, but I don’t.”

Mike sat back on his heels. “Do you think we oughta call an ambulance?”

Johnny frowned. “Nah. I kind of think we oughta just monitor him—make sure he can keep his airway clear. He puked a lot, which is good—I mean, since he didn’t aspirate.”

Mike rubbed a hand across his face. “Okay. I guess I’ll start some coffee. Looks like we’re gonna need it. Then I’ll do something about this mess. Hopefully I can clean it up without throwing up.” He took a shaky breath, and went into the kitchen area.

“Oh, man,” he muttered, as he looked under the kitchen sink for cleaning supplies. He found an unopened package of rubber gloves, and put them on. They were too small, but he didn’t care. He grabbed the paper towels, and the kitchen wastebasket, and swept the whole mess up in just a few passes. He immediately took the reeking bag out to the dumpster in the parking lot, and returned to the kitchen to rifle through the bottles under the sink.

“This oughta do it,” he said. He took the spray bottle and some more paper towels out to the dining area where Chet lay. He was about to start spraying, when Johnny stopped him.

“Whoa whoa whoa, you can’t spray that stuff near his face like that, babe.”

“But … oh. I guess I shouldn’t. It is kind of right in his face. I can just … use some water, I guess.”

“That’ll be fine,” Johnny said. He put a hand on Chet’s abdomen and counted respirations again while Mike wiped the floor with damp towels.

After Mike stopped cleaning, Johnny traded places with him.

“I oughta clean this hand up while he’s still out cold,” he said, fishing through his bag for the appropriate supplies. He irrigated the wound, and was relieved to see there was no glass embedded in it. “Now, Chet, if you’ve got any level of consciousness there at all, this’ll get your attention,” Johnny said, as he started cleaning the wound with disinfectant.

Indeed, Chet stirred and grumbled at the painful stimuli, but didn’t really wake up. Johnny finished cleaning the cut, and inspected it.

“I’ll just tape this up for now,” he said, applying butterfly bandages to keep the edges of the wound together, “but he should probably get a couple stitches.”

“Not looking,” Mike said. “Don’t wanna see it, so stop telling me about it.”

“Oops, sorry. There. That oughta do it for now.”

“Now what?” Mike asked.

“Now we just watch and wait. Might not be a bad idea to take shifts, so we can at least get some sleep,” Johnny said. “I mean, if you’re okay with that.”

“Sure,” Mike said. “We oughta wait for Marco, though.”

“True. We have some lying to do,” Johnny sighed.

“Yeah,” Mike said. He frowned, and continued. “Man, I wish I’d handled Chet’s call earlier a little better. I should’ve known, after what you said after he called you this afternoon, that he really needed the company.”

“Don’t sweat it, Mikey. I mean, he heard me come in, and you had to think of something fast. Plus, nobody knew he was gonna do something like this.”

Mike made a frustrated sound. “Look—I feel like feeling guilty for a little while. So just let me, okay?”

“Okay, all right!” Johnny said.

A few minutes later, there was pounding on the door. Mike got up from the couch to let Marco in.

“Man, Stoker, I’m glad you could—” Marco took in the sight in the dining area. “Johnny? How’d you get here?”

Mike answered for him. “I knew how to get in touch with him, and I thought it might be handy to have a medic on this call.”

“Oh,” Marco said. “Okay. How’s he doing?”

Johnny waggled his hand in a “so-so” gesture. “He’d probably be better off, medically, at Rampart, but I have a feeling that’s not really what he needs right—”

The rest of Johnny’s sentence was cut off by a round of retching, in which Chet brought up the rest of the alcohol that was still in his stomach. Mike dashed out of the room, and leaned his head against the fridge. Johnny could see from where he was that Mike was breathing hard.

“Uh, Marco—could you maybe get that? Mike’s got paper towels.”

“Sure,” Marco said.

They moved Chet to the couch and began their vigil, checking vitals every ten minutes. Johnny and Marco made their way through the coffee, but Mike decided to abstain, since there was no way he was gonna fall asleep anyhow.

Just after five thirty, Chet stirred and groaned.

“Oh, fuck,” he mumbled, as he picked his head up and put it back down again.

“Chet?” Johnny said, stepping over Chet’s body to look at him from the front.

“Gage? What the …” Chet was pale and green, and tried to sit up. Johnny let him, but he put a basin down in front of him. It turned out to be just in time. Marco handed him a cup of water, which Chet rinsed with, and then took the mess away.

“You had us pretty worried, there, pal,” Johnny said. “How are you feeling?”

“Drunk and sick,” Chet muttered. “Just kill me now.” He rolled half off the couch and tried to lie back down on the floor again, but Johnny restrained him.

“Whoa, there. Not gonna let you get on the floor again,” Johnny said.

“The hell are you guysh doin’ here, anyhow?” Chet slurred.

“Your call got me really worried,” Marco said, “so I called the other guys, since they could get here faster.”

“Wha’ call?” Chet asked, his head wobbling on his neck.

“Never mind,” Marco said, shaking his head.

Mike came over with a cup of black coffee.

“Drink this,” he said, handing the cup to Chet, who took it with shaking hands.

“Shtoker? I thought … you were buzhy.”

“Not any more,” Mike said. “Drink up, Kelly.”

Chet looked at the mug of black brew. “Don’ wanna.”

“Tough shit,” Johnny said. “We coulda dragged your ass into Rampart, but we didn’t, so shut up and drink the coffee.”

“Ashhole,” Chet muttered, but he brought the cup to his cracked lips and took a sip.

“Tell ya what,” Johnny said. “You drink that cup down, and take some aspirin, and I’ll let you go to bed. But someone’s gonna barge in every hour and make sure you’re still breathing. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chet said, sipping some more coffee.

“Uh …” Marco said, “I actually have to help my brother with something at seven. So I’m gonna have to go. I’m really sorry, guys, to leave you with with him like this.”

“Hell, it’s not your fault, Marco. You go home, and we’ll keep an eye on him for a while longer. Then maybe later this afternoon we can see about what the hell is going on here,” Johnny said.

“Okay,” Marco said. “Thanks a million, guys.”

Chet didn’t seem to notice as Marco left. “I need a drink,” he said, when he finished the coffee.

“Sure ya do,” Johnny said, handing him a glass of water and two aspirin tablets. “But what you’re gonna get is water and aspirin. Take these, and then we’ll get you to bed.”

Chet choked down the aspirin.

“See? You did it. C’mon, Stoker; let’s put this sorry fireman to bed.”

Mike appeared on Chet’s other side to help Johnny heave him to his feet.

“Hey,” Chet said, wafting alcohol vapors right into Mike’s face, “where’d _you_ come from?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “The stork brought me. Up on three, Johnny. One, two, _three_!”

“Okay, sailor, you need to hit the head before we toss you in your bunk?” Johnny asked, once they had Chet upright between them.

“Wha?”

“Do. You. Have. To. Piss?” Mike asked slowly and patiently, dispensing with cute talk, which Chet obviously wasn’t processing very well.

Chet appeared to ponder the question. “Don’ thing sho.”

“All right.” They half-carried Chet to his bedroom, and were about to lay him down when he stopped them.

“Waitasecon’, waitasecon’. I gotta pee.”

“Jesus,” Johnny muttered, and they did an about face, and walked Chet to the bathroom.

They stood there, holding Chet upright in the doorway.

“Okay, pal. You’re on your own for this part,” Johnny said. “Hold onto the sink or somethin’.”

“Whatever you say, Gagey-baby!” Chet chortled at his own wit.

“Riiiiiight,” Mike said, letting go of Chet’s arm. “We’ll be waiting out here.”

Johnny made sure the door didn’t close all the way, because the last thing they needed was a drunk locked in the bathroom. When Chet was done with his business, Mike and Johnny put him to bed, and went back to the living room.

“Now what?” Mike said.

Johnny shrugged. “I think we oughta stick around and keep an eye on him, to be honest. I wasn’t kidding about barging in there every so often. I doubt he’s in any major danger, since he can sort of walk and talk.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. But there’s also the issue of how—and why—he got this way in the first place. I guess I’m not entirely comfortable leaving him alone, since he nearly drank himself to death when he was alone.”

“You’re right on the money, Mike. He’ll be pissed with us when he wakes up for real, but you’re right—we need to have a chat with him before we take off. And maybe see if he’ll go get some stitches, too.”

“Man, I’m beat. You think it’s okay to take a nap on his couch? I mean, not like lying down together, because … yeah. But I could sleep sitting up at this point,” Mike said, yawning widely to prove his point.

“Yeah, me too,” Johnny said. “Couch. We’ll hear him get up, anyhow, because there’s no way he’s not gonna be puking. Can you set that watch of yours to beep annoyingly every hour?”

They sat down on the sofa, and Mike pushed some of the tiny buttons on his watch. Within two minutes, they were both asleep.

When Mike’s watch beeped at six, he groaned and stood up. He padded over to the door of Chet’s bedroom, and looked in. Chet was lying on his left side, the way they’d put him, and was breathing slowly and deeply. Mike dragged himself back to the couch, and fell right back asleep.

At seven, Mike’s watch beeped again. This time, he patted Johnny.

“Wha?”

“Your turn to check the baby, hon,” Mike said.

“Ha ha. Okay.”

Mike heard the sounds of Johnny checking on Chet, then using the bathroom. He could just hear Johnny muttering something like “worse slob than me. Not that I can get away with that anymore.” Mike smiled and was asleep again before Johnny’s weight returned to the sofa.

At eight, the sun was streaming in through the east-facing window, and Mike gave up on going back to sleep. He checked on Chet, who had turned himself over but was still fine, and then went to the kitchen. He started a fresh pot of coffee, and looked in the refrigerator. Remarkably, there was a pound of bacon and a dozen eggs, so he got to work. Shortly, Johnny joined him in the kitchen. There wasn’t really room for two people to work at the stove, so Johnny just stood silently next to Mike, keeping him company as he flipped the bacon and scrambled the eggs.

Around the corner, Chet was woken by the smells coming from his kitchen. Ordinarily he would relish the aroma of eggs and sizzling bacon in the morning, but … not at the moment.

“Holy crap,” he muttered as he sat up. He swallowed hard a few times, until he was reasonably sure that he wasn’t going to throw up, which he realized was a fucking miracle. He looked down at himself, and saw that he was in yesterday’s clothes, which were covered with blood and—well, he wasn’t sure what. He stripped everything off, and pulled on some old sweats, holding on to the bureau as he did so.

He was pretty sure he’d find Gage in his kitchen. He had a dim memory of someone else maybe being there, too, but it was Gage who was really in his face about everything, if he recalled correctly. Which, he reflected, he probably didn’t, from how his head felt.

Chet padded silently out to the kitchen, and saw Gage and—no, not Marco. Stoker was cooking breakfast. At his stove. In his kitchen. And Johnny was standing next to him.

Like, _right_ next to him. So their shoulders were touching.

“I could eat all of that, right now,” he heard Gage say.

“Yeah, me too,” Stoker replied. “I feel like we pulled a double.”

“Well, we kinda did,” Johnny said.

Chet squinted into his kitchen, and was pretty sure he saw Johnny put his hand on Mike’s shoulder.

Okay. Well, Gage was always getting in people’s personal space, Chet thought.

Until he noticed how Gage’s thumb was stroking the nape of Mike’s neck.

Chet blinked, twice, three times. He decided he was still a lot drunker than he thought he was, and turned silently to go back to his bedroom. He lay back down on his bed, face up, and watched the ceiling spin above him. He closed his eyes, and was asleep again in no time.

**TBC**

 


	41. Uncertain

**Chapter 41: Uncertain**

Chet didn’t sleep long after his aborted first attempt at getting up. He woke again less than an hour later, and this time, had to run straight to the bathroom to throw up.

As he heaved and retched, he wasn’t able to think about anything except how he just wanted to die. When he thought he might finally be done with this phase of what promised to be a hangover of epic proportions, he tried to remember why the hell he’d gotten so plastered out of his mind that he ended up in this state.

Oh. Yeah. It had something to do with being a lonely, depressed, possibly subconsciously self-destructive, pathetic excuse for a human being. That was it.

He stood in front of the sink and contemplated his visage in the mirror. He saw just about what he was expecting to see—bloodshot eyes, skin pale to the point of greenness, chapped lips, and hair that looked like it had encountered gale-force winds. He hoped that Gage and Stoker had left, but he kind of doubted it. Especially not Gage, he thought, as he peered under the expert bandage on his hand and winced, realizing he’d certainly need some stitches, if it wasn’t too late.

When he opened the bathroom door, he was assailed by the lingering aroma of bacon, and had to duck back inside when his gorge rose. He didn’t actually puke again, thank God, but the smell did suddenly bring back a memory.

Gage and Stoker, at the stove. _That_ part he could believe was real. Gage’s hand on Stoker’s shoulder—well … that was getting to be a stretch. And the thing with the thumb? Nuh uh. He had to have hallucinated that whole thing. Because no way, no how.

Chet filled the drinking glass he kept in the bathroom with water, and drank it slowly. He thought some more about what he’d seen—and the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he’d actually seen what he thought he’d seen.

It would explain a few things, all right.

Like neither one of them saying jack shit about their “girlfriends.” And Stoker never saying anything, _anything_ , about his personal life. Or those times when Johnny had obviously had a … terrific weekend … but wouldn’t talk about it.

But Chet knew for sure that Johnny really did chase after the girls, in a serious way. They’d even been on plenty of double dates, and there’d been more times than Chet really wanted to count that they’d been out on the town, just the guys, and Gage had ended up picking some chick up.

Chet was no prude, though, and he knew that some people went both ways. Heck, he’d had a girlfriend for a while who bragged about that, and Chet thought it was actually really hot. He never did convince her to try a threesome, though, with her and another girl and him. But somehow thinking about a guy going both ways was … different. 

Chet downed another glass of water in his bathroom sanctuary. He really wasn’t ready to go out yet—how could he pretend he hadn’t seen what he’d seen? And was he really, _really_ sure he’d seen it? And that it meant what he assumed it did?

Chet sighed. He’d seen what he thought he did, all right. And there was really no way it didn’t mean what he thought it did. 

A knock at the bathroom door jolted Chet out of his reverie.

“You okay in there, Chet?” 

Chet really couldn’t come up with an acceptable answer.

“Chet? It’s Johnny. Answer me, or I’m comin’ in.”

There was no getting out of this one, Chet thought as he cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Gimme a minute.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. “Stoker made coffee a little while ago, and there’s breakfast for you in the oven. You need to eat it. No arguing. ‘Cause we’re takin’ you to Rampart to get that hand looked at. Also no arguing.”

“Okay,” Chet said weakly. 

There was no getting around it—he was going to have to come out of the bathroom soon. Gage wouldn’t go away, that was for sure. It was awfully decent of Gage to be taking care of him, Chet thought. Especially since Chet had done all of this to himself. He did have to wonder how anyone knew he was, well, drinking himself into oblivion. He must’ve called someone. That had to be it.

Chet filled his glass with water one more time, and drank it. He steeled himself—against what, he wasn’t entirely sure—and opened the door. Squinting at the daylight coming in through the windows, he entered the main living area of his apartment. Mike was asleep on the couch, and Gage was pouring a mug of coffee, which he proffered silently to Chet.

Chet took the coffee, and sat down at the table. Johnny sat across from him, with his own mug of coffee. Chet finally looked up.

“You okay?” Johnny asked, and Chet knew he didn’t just mean the hangover.

“I … I dunno. But what I did, was pretty fucking stupid. Thanks for coming over.”

“You’re welcome. You called Marco, in case you’re wondering,” Johnny said. “He was here earlier, but he had to go at around six this morning.”

“Uh … how long have you guys been here?” Chet asked, wincing at the too-loud sound Johnny’s mug made when he set it on the table.

“Well, let’s see—Marco called at about one fifteen, so, since about one thirty or so. I gotta say, you were in pretty rough shape, my friend,” Johnny said. 

“I guess … I let myself get outta hand.” Chet didn’t really want to get in to why this had happened, but he knew Gage wouldn’t let it go. 

“Well, I’ve been there and done that, b’lieve me. Roy can tell you stories. But he better not, or I’ll kick his ass.” Johnny cleared his throat. “Anyhow—I don’t know who you wanna talk to about what made you do that, but you gotta talk to someone, man. Promise me that. You don’t hafta talk to me, though you can if you want, of course, but you gotta talk to someone.”

Chet nodded, and wished he hadn’t. “Yeah. I will. I promise.”

“Okay. I’ll take you at your word. But just so we’re clear on this: you coulda _died_ , Chet. You were on the floor, face down in your own puke. You coulda puked lying on your back, and choked to death on your own vomit. Or your tongue coulda obstructed your airway. Or you coulda cut an artery on that broken bottle, and bled out.”

“I didn’t mean it to go that far,” Chet said quietly. “Honest, I didn’t. I guess … I guess I just drank so much, so fast, that I lost all judgment.”

“And you didn’t have anyone with you. That’s how this kinda thing goes bad, Chet.”

“I know,” Chet said, looking down into his coffee. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

“You’re welcome. End of lecture,” Johnny said. “On another note—I think you need some stitches in that hand. I just don’t know if it’s too late—like what the time limit is. Do you think you can handle some breakfast, and then a trip to the ER, sooner rather than later?”

“Let’s see what happens,” Chet said, and moved to stand up.

“No, you sit—I’ll get it. Mike made bacon and eggs earlier. Nothin’ like a greasy breakfast for a hangover,” Johnny said, as he pulled the plate out of the oven and set it in front of Chet.

Chet paled, but didn’t have to leave the table. He couldn’t bring himself to take a bite yet, but sipped his coffee. He turned his head faster than he should have when he heard stirring coming from the sofa behind him. Mike was just sitting up, and rubbing his eyes. Chet looked at Johnny, wanting to gauge his reaction, and sure enough, Johnny was suddenly watching Mike, and not him.

Johnny got up and filled another mug with coffee, and Mike joined them at the table.

“How are you feeling, Chet?” Mike asked.

“Um … about how you’d expect, I guess,” Chet said. “I really appreciate you guys babysitting me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Mike said. “And I’m really sorry I didn’t understand how much you needed someone to hang out with last night. I should’ve—”

“No, no,” Chet said. “Don’t even _think_ that, Stoker. I just got stupid, is all. It’s not your fault for bein’ busy.”

“See?” Johnny said to Mike. “I told you to quit thinkin’ like that.”

That innocent rebuke made Chet mentally add another point in favor of a Gage/Stoker relationship. He felt like he suddenly had a new purpose in life: to know, for sure, as soon as possible, whether his assumption was correct.

The new goal, absurd though it was, gave Chet the impetus to take a bite of his breakfast. His stomach had things to say about the new invasion, but it seemed to calm down once it realized that it was friendly forces, and not more alcohol. He plodded through the plate of food, and downed the glass of water and the two aspirin that Johnny had set in front of him. While he was eating, he thought about how his brief phone conversation with Stoker had gone the previous night. Someone had arrived at Mike’s house while they were talking—someone who Mike didn’t need to let in. It could’ve been Johnny—the timing worked, since the batting cages they’d been at were just a little closer to Chet’s place than to Mike’s. One more point for the Gage/Stoker team.

When he was done, he took his plate to the kitchen and set it in the sink.

“So, you think that food is gonna stay where you put it if we drag you to Rampart now?” Johnny asked.

“That’s a lovely way of putting it, but yeah. I’ll bring a bucket, just in case, though,” Chet said. “And you don’t both have to come—actually, I can just drive myself there.”

Mike laughed. “No way, pal. You’re probably still over the legal limit to drive, and even if you weren’t, you’re in no kind of shape anyhow.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But you don’t both have to come. Not everyone needs to ruin their morning. And Mike, you have a house-guest, right?”

“He’s not there now anyhow,” Mike said. “Plus, we got here in one car. I left my car where I picked Johnny up.”

Those comments were a little less conclusive, Chet thought, but it still fit. He threw his hands in the air. “All right, all right! The double-teaming’s worn me down. I surrender. I’ll get my bucket, and then let’s get this show over with.”

Mike sat in the back, to let Chet have the front seat. Another hospital was much closer, but it was worth the extra twenty minutes it took them to get to Rampart, so they could deal with familiar people. Johnny dropped Chet and Mike at the back door, and went to park the Rover. He was surprised to see Chet and Mike still waiting by the back door when he returned. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Chicken?” he asked.

“Aw, now that’s a low blow, Gage. You know I don’t like hospitals,” Chet said.

“All right, all right. C’mon, you baby. I’ll hold your hand,” Johnny said.

Johnny led Chet up to the ER admissions desk.

“Hey, Ginny!” he said to the nurse there.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Johnny Gage, in civvies, no less. What’s going on?”

“My good friend Chet Kelly here—one of the firemen on my shift—did a number on his hand last night. I don’t know if it’s too late for stitches, but if one of the docs could have a look, that’d be great.”

The nurse looked Chet up and down, and he suddenly wished he’d taken a shower before leaving the house. It was probably pretty obvious that he was hung over, and he knew for sure he looked terrible. He figured the nurse probably guessed right away that he cut himself when he was on a drinking binge.

“Well, we’re always happy to help out one of L.A. County’s finest,” Ginny said. She handed a clipboard with some paperwork on it to Chet. “Fill this out, and I’ll get you on the list. Shouldn’t be too long of a wait today, unless we get critical patients in the meantime.”

“Thanks,” Chet said. He took a seat and began filling out the paperwork. He noted that Mike remained at the desk with Johnny. Chet didn’t exactly mean to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help overhearing the rest of the conversation.

“Say,” Johnny said. “I’m wondering if you know anything about a little kid Roy brought in yesterday morning.”

Chet watched as the nurse’s face fell. “I heard about that fire,” she said. “The gal I took over from at the start of yesterday’s day shift said it was pretty bad. Let me call up to the burn unit and see if I can find something out for you.”

A few minutes later, when Chet was in the middle of his paperwork, Johnny and Mike sat down next to him.

“The kid me and Roy pulled out is still hangin’ in there,” Johnny said. 

“That’s great,” Chet said, and he meant it. That small piece of good news brightened his disposition considerably, even though he knew the child still wasn’t out of the woods, and had a long, painful recovery ahead of him. He handed the clipboard to the nurse at the desk.

Ginny checked the paperwork over, and put it all into a temporary chart. “Have you been here before?”

“Unfortunately, yeah, a couple times. Busted my shoulder once. That was the most recent one.” 

“Wow, how’d you do that?” Ginny asked, as she filled out the slip to request Chet’s chart from medical records.

Chet told her the story of the earthquake-damaged, abandoned hospital being set on fire by teenagers, and the minor collapse that trapped him briefly and broke his shoulder.

Ginny shook her head. “You guys have quite a job,” she said.

“So do you. I mean, you have to actually be _nice_ to idiots like me all day,” Chet said.

Ginny laughed. “You’re not making it very difficult. Oh—excuse me, we have another patient coming in.”

Chet sat down with Johnny and Mike again. 

Johnny nudged him in the ribs. “Chattin’ up Ginny?” he asked.

Chet scowled. “Just a friendly conversation. I’m not really in pick-up mode right now, if you know what I mean.”

The three of them sat there, each reading a magazine, waiting for Chet’s turn.

“You know, you really don’t have to wait with me,” Chet said. “I could get a cab home, easy.”

Mike leaned forward so he could see past Johnny, “Put a lid on it, Kelly,” he said. “We’re staying, and that’s final. That’s what friends are for—especially friends that were too busy last night.”

Chet blinked. “Okay. Thanks.”

They all settled back into their magazines. After about fifteen minutes, Mike spoke up.

“Hah—see? I told you so,” he said, shoving his magazine on top of Johnny’s and pointing to a paragraph in the middle of the page.

“Yeah, yeah; okay, you win,” Johnny said, handing the magazine back to Mike.

_Another point for the Gage/Stoker team_ , Chet thought.

Half an hour passed, and a nurse called Chet’s name. Johnny stood up with him, and greeted the nurse.

“Hey, Carol—this is my buddy Chet. You know—he sometimes brings the squad by if me and Roy both had to ride in with the patient.”

“Oh, of course,” Carol said. “Dr. Early’s on today,” she said to Chet. “I’ll make sure to tell him who you are.”

“Uh, thanks,” Chet said. He was starting to be embarrassed at the attention. After all, he was here because of a drunken mishap, not because of some heroic rescue.

Johnny took his seat again, while Carol showed Chet into a treatment room. The nurse got his vitals, and frowned. 

“Your blood pressure is quite low,” she noted. 

“I’m, uh, probably dehydrated,” he said. “All I had yesterday was coffee and booze.”

Carol made a note on the chart, and then gently unwrapped the bandage on Chet’s hand.

“Dr. Early will be in shortly,” she said.

“Thanks.”

Chet waited a few more minutes, sitting cross-legged on the exam table, all the while mulling over the question of the day. There was really no denying the conclusion he’d come to: Gage and Stoker were an item.

They didn’t have mysterious girlfriends they wouldn’t talk about—they had each other.

Stoker didn’t have some friend staying with him last night—it was Johnny.

When Stoker showed up at work that one morning, obviously having gotten some just before arriving for his shift, he’d—and Chet had to force himself to acknowledge this part—he’d been doing whatever it was he’d been doing with Johnny.

Chet had acquaintances who were openly gay. Not many, but some. That didn’t bother him. Heck, he’d come of age during the late sixties; had lived the Summer of Love. The combinations involved in “free love” were many, and he’d seen ‘em all walk past his tent at some time or another during one particularly memorable summer vacation. So why, he asked himself, was he so bothered by his accidental discovery? Especially since both Gage and Stoker had been so incredibly happy for the last few months? They were happy; they were his friends; so he should be happy.

But he _wasn’t_ happy. He was uncomfortable. Not because of the guy/guy thing. Well, okay, maybe _sort_ of. But mostly because it was two guys he’d known for _five years_ , and he didn’t have a clue. 

He was uncomfortable, he realized, not solely because his two male friends seemed to be involved with each other, but more because he knew something he obviously wasn’t supposed to know, and because he had no clue how to handle the knowledge he had. He buried his head in his hands—he couldn’t come up with any answers, not with this crushing hangover. He just wanted to get the stitches over with, and go home and go to bed for the rest of his life.

He was half asleep, but all miserable, when the door opened.

“Good morning, Chet. I understand you have a cut on your hand that may need stitches?”

Chet nodded. “Yeah.” He held his hand out for the doctor to look at. “I don’t know if there’s a time limit on getting stitches, but I guess it might need ‘em if it’s not too late. Johnny patched it up a bit earlier this morning.”

“When did this happen?” Dr. Early asked.

Chet paled when he realized he didn’t actually know. “Uh, to be honest, doc, I’m … not entirely sure.”

“I see,” Dr. Early said. “Do you know why you’re not sure?”

“I was drunk as a skunk,” Chet admitted. “I feel like crap, now, too.”

“The nurse mentioned that your blood pressure was on the low side. Have you had any vomiting?”

“Uh, yeah. Plenty. I kept down some water and some bacon and eggs, though.”

“All right. Here’s what I’d like to do. I’ll put some stitches in your hand, to keep the edges together more effectively and permanently than those butterfly bandages will. And as long as you’re here, some IV fluids might do you some good—I can give you something that will help balance your electrolytes out, and that should help you feel better.”

“Okay,” Chet said, greatly relieved that the doctor wasn’t giving him a guilt trip about his drunken binge.

“All right,” Dr. Early said. “I’ll have a nurse start your IV while I work on getting your hand numbed up for the stitches.”

Five minutes later, Chet was lying back with a bag of lactated Ringer’s dripping into his arm. He winced as each shot of lidocaine went into his hand, but didn’t complain, since he knew that would hurt a hell of a lot less than stitches without the lidocaine.

“There,” Dr. Early said. “It’ll take about ten minutes for the lidocaine to really soak in and start working. In the meantime, I thought we could have a chat about what brought you in today. Is this something that happens often? Drinking enough that you don’t remember things?” He sat down on a rolling stool so he was at eye level with Chet.

Chet shook his head miserably. “No. Let’s just say it was kind of the perfect storm. We had a real bad shift—a house fire with a couple fatalities. The fire really got away from us, but it wasn’t our fault. Still feels terrible, though. And then … well, I guess I was feeling sorry for myself, and … drank way too much. By myself. I’m feeling pretty stupid right now.”

“Well, I’ll tell you something. Not very many people who are sitting where you are right now are happy about what brought them here. It sounds like you’re being pretty hard on yourself. I was on duty during that fire, and it’s understandable that you’d be upset, seeing what you saw.”

Chet nodded. “When your job is to put the fire out to help save people, and it doesn’t work, no matter how hard you try, it feels pretty bad. Even though I know that the house was a firetrap, it doesn’t really make me feel better.”

“I suppose I feel the same way when a patient comes in who I can’t save,” Dr. Early said. “Even if it’s amazing that they made it as far as the ER, it still feels bad when someone dies. Even after all these years.”

“I guess that’s pretty much the same, for us firemen,” Chet said.

“What I do, in those situations, is try to talk with other ER doctors,” Dr. Early said. 

Chet silently thanked him for not trying to give outright advice, which he really wasn’t in the mood for.

“Yeah. I did that. I tried to find a fireman buddy to hang out with last night, but everyone was busy, and I guess I felt lonely and pathetic, and … well. There it is. But to be honest, I’m so appalled with myself right now that I really don’t think this is going to happen again. It sure as hell didn’t fix anything to practically drink myself into a coma.”

“I do know one thing—you’ve got two good friends out there in the waiting room. They’d probably be glad to hear you say that,” Dr. Early said. “I don’t know Mike Stoker well, but John Gage is someone who takes his friendships seriously.”

“Yeah. I know.” But what Chet was thinking was, _but not so seriously he’d tell me who he was actually going out with_.

“All right,” Dr. Early said. “Let’s see if that anesthetic is working, shall we?” He prodded gently at the edge of the cut.

“Didn’t feel a thing,” Chet said.

Fifteen minutes and ten stitches later, Chet was all sewn up and professionally bandaged.

“I see from your chart that your tetanus shot is up to date. But I’m afraid you’re on the sick list until the stitches are out,” Dr. Early said. 

“Yeah, I figured,” Chet said glumly. Since it wasn’t a line-of-duty injury, he’d have to use his sick time for the shifts he’d miss. But he had plenty, and that’s what it was for, he reminded himself. 

“I’ll send you with a note to give to … Captain Stanley, is it?”

Chet nodded.

“Good,” Dr. Early said, as he unhooked the IV and put pressure on the spot where the catheter had been. “And please, if you’re ever feeling the way you were last night, call someone before you do something where you might hurt yourself. There’s always someone here at the ER who can talk to people in need.” He taped over the folded gauze covering the IV site.

“Okay. I promise, Doc. But like I said—it’s not gonna happen again.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Make sure Johnny knows that, too.”

“I will.”

“All right,” Dr. Early said. “Well, we’re done here. Come back in a week to get the stitches out, or earlier if there’s redness, swelling, pus, or any signs of infection.”

“Will do, Doc. Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

Chet went back out to the waiting room just in time to see Mike whacking Johnny over the head with a rolled up magazine. Johnny laughed and slugged him in the arm. He rolled his eyes, and added another point to his tally.

The nurse at the desk wasn’t particularly amused. 

“John Gage! Do you mind?” 

“Uh, sorry, Ginny,” Johnny said.

Chet looked at his two friends, and something sunk in at that moment. They were happy. Really, really damned happy. 

“Well, Chet,” Ginny said. “Looks like you’re all taken care of.”

“Yep—ten stitches,” he told her, as he handed her some paperwork. “Uh, do I pay anything now?”

“No,” Ginny said. “Your County insurance should cover the whole thing, actually.”

“Good. You look a lot better, by the way. I mean,” she backpedaled, “not that you looked bad before. You just look … okay, I’m gonna pry my foot out of my mouth now. You’re a fireman—got any tools for that?”

“Sure,” Chet said, “but they’re all back at the station. And I’m on the sick list until the stitches come out, so I’m not even allowed in the door.”

Ginny initialed something on the bottom of the page Chet had given her, tore the bottom part off, and handed it back to him. 

“There’s your note for your boss,” she said. “I’m supposed to give you that part. The rest goes in your chart.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Chet stood there, not quite wanting to leave, but lacking anything else to say.

“Listen,” Ginny said. “I’m off tomorrow, and you’re on the sick list. This is terribly forward of me, but would you maybe like to have lunch?”

Chet nearly fell over backwards. “Me?”

“Not your juvenile friends back there, that’s for sure,” Ginny said. 

“Uh, sure! I mean, definitely!” Chet stammered. 

Ginny wrote something on a piece of paper, and slid it across the counter to him. He looked at it, and memorized the number before folding it and putting it in his pocket.

“Call me.”

Chet grinned at her widely, the first time he’d smiled in what seemed like a hundred years. She must be a sucker for hard-luck cases, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna turn her down. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Kelly!” Johnny said, from right behind him. “Are you bugging this lovely young lady?”

“Well, Gage, I’d say you’re the only one here who’s bothered me at all today. You and your friend, there,” Ginny said. 

“Sorry,” Johnny said. “We were bored.”

“Well, go be bored somewhere else. But thanks for bringing Chet in,” Ginny said.

“You heard the lady, Chet,” Johnny said. “Let’s get out of here. How many stitches?” he asked, as he spun Chet around towards the exit.

“Ten.”

Mike whistled. “Wow.”

“And a bag of some kind of IV, too,” Chet added.

“So _that’s_ why you look so much better!” Johnny said. “You cheated on your hangover!”

“It’s not cheating if the doctor prescribes it,” Mike said. 

“I guess not,” Johnny said. He unlocked the doors of the Rover, and everyone got in.

“I also got a good talking to from Dr. Early,” Chet said. “And I just wanted to tell you both thanks a lot for looking after me. And it won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Johnny said. “Because seriously, Chet, that was really bad.”

“I know,” Chet said. “The whole thing was just really, really stupid.”

“It’s not stupid to feel awful,” Mike said from the back seat. “And we get plenty of stuff to feel awful about in our jobs.”

“I know. But it _is_ stupid to drink yourself half to death. _That’s_ the part that won’t happen again. At least not for that reason. Partying is one thing; drinking by yourself when you’re depressed is a whole ‘nother ball of wax. So I’m sorry you had to deal with me,” Chet said.

“Jesus, Chet. Don’t go laying a guilt trip on yourself,” Mike said. “That’s not healthy either. Take it from me, as the least sane guy at our station: guilt trips don’t help. But friends do. We were happy to help out, okay?”

“Okay,” Chet said, wondering what Mike meant about being the least sane guy at the station. “Thanks.”

For the rest of the drive back to his apartment, Chet thought about what he was going to do about what he’d learned this morning. His silence didn’t go unobserved. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Chet?” Johnny asked, as he pulled his vehicle into the parking lot of Chet’s building. “Seriously—be honest with us.”

Chet laughed—he had been given his opening. Mike peered at him from the back seat with concern.

“Honest?” Chet said. “Okay. In that case, why don’t you guys come on in for a few minutes. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What,” Johnny said, “that you have a date with Ginny? Figured that one out already, pal. And congratulations—she’s a real nice girl.”

“No,” Chet sighed, “that’s not it. Just … come in, okay?”

Chet didn’t miss the look Mike and Johnny exchanged, partly because he was watching for it. He opened the door, and they all went inside.

“Have a seat,” Chet said. He purposely took the armchair, leaving the couch for Mike and Johnny to share. He gnawed on a fingernail for a few seconds, trying to think of how to express what he needed to say. He opened his mouth to say something, but realized he still didn’t know what to say, so he shut it again, and looked away.

“You _know_ , don’t you,” Mike said flatly.

“Yeah,” Chet said. “Yeah, I know.”

Johnny turned a shade of pale that Chet thought perfectly matched his own face from a few hours ago, and put his face in his hands.

“So, uh, I guess the next question is,” Mike said, “how much of a problem is this going to be?”

“None at all,” Chet said, “except that you obviously and understandably don’t want people to know. And now I know. I could’ve pretended I didn’t know, but I think in the long run, that would just make things more difficult for all of us.”

Chet watched as Johnny rubbed his face with both hands, and finally emerged from his ineffective hiding place.

“No problem at all?” Johnny said. “Are you for real?”

Chet sighed. “Look. I’m not gonna lie—when I first figured it out, I was kind of freaked out. But it’s been pretty obvious for the last couple of months that you’re happy—both of you. And now I know why. So no, it’s not gonna be a problem. And I’m not gonna tell anyone, and I’ll definitely stop nagging you about your girlfriends. I mean, unless you want me to keep doing it in front of the other guys.”

“No,” Johnny said after a few seconds of silence. “No point in any charades. But, we appreciate that you’ll keep this quiet.”

Nobody said anything for several long, uncomfortable moments.

“So, how’d we trip up?” Mike asked. “We thought we were really good at being careful.”

“You _are_ really good,” Chet said. “But I got up for a minute while you were in the kitchen this morning. I … could see that you were more than friends.”

Johnny and Mike looked at each other.

“I guess we assumed, incorrectly, we’d hear puking once you were awake,” Mike said. “Our mistake, apparently.”

“I wasn’t trying to be sneaky, or anything. And honest—I don’t have a problem with you guys being involved. I mean, sure, it’s kind of hurting my head at the moment, but mostly because it’s kind of a bombshell.”

Johnny laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, I guess it kinda would be, wouldn’t it. After five years.”

“Well, since I’m being honest, I’ll tell you that it’s gonna take some time for me to get used to this. But I will,” Chet said. “I mean, hey, I lived free love in the sixties, man, and free means free.”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “So, you, uh, experimented?”

“No! No, no no no, that’s not what I meant!” Chet said. “I meant, anything goes. For _other_ people.”

Johnny burst out laughing, his face finally looking normal. “All right, Chester B. I think we get the picture. And don’t worry—Roy’s known about this for a coupla months, and he’s still gettin’ used to it.”

Chet gaped at Johnny. “Roy knows? How’d he find out?”

“I told ‘im,” Johnny said. “Kinda had to. He already knew my gate swung both ways, and … well, I hang out with him and his family so much that when I suddenly didn’t as much, I kinda had to explain.”

Chet frowned. “Yeah, I guess so.”

There was a long pause, as all three men realized there wasn’t much else to say on the topic. 

“Well, thanks for being honest, Chet. I think it’s pretty obvious why we have to keep quiet about this, even with our good friends,” Mike said.

Chet waved him off. “No, I get it. I mean, sure, it’s 1976, and this is California, but we all work for the fire service, for cryin’ out loud. I mean, I guess it could be worse—we could be cops, right?”

Mike shuddered. “That’s … wow. That’s a universe I don’t wanna live in.”

“Yeah. Man, I hate guns. I could never be a cop,” Johnny said.

There was another silence. 

“You gonna be okay, Chet?” Johnny asked, knowing it was time for them to go.

“Yeah,” Chet said. “I am. I really, really appreciate you guys helping me out last night. And this morning. And like I said, it’s really and truly not gonna happen again. I didn’t even mean for it to happen like this when I picked up the bottle. So what I’m tryin’ to say, is, I’m not gonna pick up the bottle again when I’m feeling like that.”

“Pick up the phone instead,” Mike suggested. “You can always, always call, day or night.”

Chet snorted lightly. “And now I know if one of you ain’t home, where he is.”

Johnny grinned. “Buy one, get one free!”

“So … can I ask one tiny question before you guys take off?” Chet said.

“You can _ask_ ,” Mike said. “But I know you, so I gotta warn you we might not answer.”

“Ha ha,” Chet said. “But I don’t think this one’s too bad. I just hafta know—did this all start around the time that cast came off, Gage? Like, right before that shift where you so spaced out you were ready to charge a standpipe system to ten thousand psi with pineapple juice, Stoker?”

“Yeah, that’d be it, Kelly,” Mike said. “And you’re not gettin’ anything else, just so we’re clear on that.”

“Crystal clear. So anyhow: my lips are zipped. And, well, you might not see it this way, but I’m actually kind of glad to know why you two have been so happy lately,” Chet said.

“Thanks, Chet,” Johnny said. He cleared his throat. “That actually means a lot to hear you say that.”

“It really does,” Mike said. 

After another short silence, Mike put his hands on his knees and stood up. “I think we oughta go,” he said. “I bet we could all use some rest.”

“That’s for sure,” Chet said. “And, I gotta call HQ to get on the sick list. And Cap, too. Not looking forward to _that_ one.”

“You don’t have to tell him the whole truth, Chet. Just tell him you accidentally cut your hand on some broken glass and you have ten stitches in your hand. He won’t push you,” Mike said. 

Chet considered that for a moment. “Yeah, I guess not. He’s am awfully decent guy.”

“That he is,” Johnny said.

Chet’s eyes flicked over to the clock on his wall. 

“Man, I’ve sucked down your whole night, and half your day. Get outta here, fellas,” he said.

“You got it,” Johnny said. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” Chet promised, as he saw them to the door.

Johnny started the short drive from Chet’s to Mike’s.

“I guess it was gonna happen sooner or later,” he said.

“Yep,” Mike said. “I don’t adore that another person knows, but I trust him.”

“Me too,” Johnny said. “I think we could trust all our friends.”

“True,” Mike replied. “But it puts people we both work closely with in an awkward position if they know about us.”

Johnny didn’t say anything to that, causing Mike to frown.

“Are you bothered by this more than I am, or something?” Mike asked.

“I was thinking about something else, actually,” Johnny said.

“Ah—I see. Something you don’t want to tell me, but you know you should, which is why you got all quiet. I know that one,” Mike said.

“Yeah,” Johnny sighed. “Okay. You’ve got my number.” He kept driving, but didn’t say anything else.

Mike sighed heavily. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Gage. Just spill it, will ya? We’re both exhausted, and we don’t have time for stalling.”

“Geez! Okay, all right! Like you said, you’re not gonna like it, but here it is,” Johnny said, grateful that he was driving and had to keep his eyes on the road and not on his partner. “I kind of have a friend—not a department person—who I kind of want to tell about us.”

“Um … I thought you really didn’t want people to know about us,” Mike said.

“The thing is, I think she already knows,” Johnny said. “Or, I think she suspects, at least.”

“She?” Mike asked. “Now you’ve got me intrigued. Who is it?”

“Dixie McCall. She’s got eagle eyes, so I think she probably figured it out already anyhow when we both were at Rampart.”

“I see,” Mike said. “But I’m curious—why do you want to tell her?”

“Ah. Because sometimes, I really, really wanna be able to tell someone how awesome you are, and that’s no good with Roy, ‘cause that’s just embarrassing for everyone.”

“Good call,” Mike said dryly. 

“But with Dix, she knows me real well, and knows who you are and all, but … it wouldn’t be weird. Ya know?”

“I know,” Mike said. “I kind of enjoyed telling my mother how great you are.”

“See?” Johnny replied. “There you have it.”

“And I suppose then you’d also have someone to complain to when I’m annoying the crap out of you,” Mike said, smiling to take any possible sting out of his words.

“Uh …”

Mike laughed. “I know, it’s fine. I get to unload on Dr. Pritchard when I need to unload, but you don’t have that option. So … yeah. That’s fine. If you wanna tell her, I mean. And if you need to bitch to her, too.”

“I would like to tell her,” Johnny said, sidestepping the fact that he’d probably like to unload on her from time to time as well. “So thanks for that. I can promise you she’ll keep it to herself.”

“I know—I’m sure you wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Mike said.

“Right,” Johnny replied.

They drove silently for the rest of the trip. When they arrived at Mike’s house, they set the alarm for one o’clock, and fell asleep, exhausted from their two days of heartache.

**TBC**


	42. Practice Makes Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bad car wreck shows Johnny and Mike that they can work together successfully.

**Chapter 42: Practice Makes Perfect**

Mike and Johnny resolved to practice all their ‘working together’ strategies and tactics diligently over the next few shifts. Chet’s sub for the first shift, Kurtz, was an unpleasant fellow from a station farther East in the county. When he was there, Johnny and Mike had to work extra hard not to exchange looks with each other, and not to make little comments to each other here and there. The squad had a heavy day, so opportunities for interaction were limited in any case.

On one of the squad’s runs, Johnny rode in with the patient in the back of the ambulance, and Roy was delayed in traffic bringing the squad to Rampart. Johnny caught Dixie in the hallway, in one of his few free moments of the day.

“Hey, uh, Dix? Do you have a minute?”

“Maybe half a minute—you two have been keeping us busy today, you know.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Johnny said, as he opened the door of the staff lounge for her.

“What’s going on, Johnny?” Dixie asked. “You look a little worried.”

“Me? Nah, I’m good. It’s just a little tense at work today. Chet Kelly is out, and his sub is a jerk. But I did want to talk to you about something important. Are you off tomorrow afternoon?”

“It just so happens I am,” Dixie said. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s great, Dix—just great. Can we maybe meet for coffee tomorrow, and I’ll explain?”

“Now, you know there’s no way I can possibly resist that offer, Johnny. But you promise—everything’s okay?”

“Yeah. Better than okay. I have good things to talk about—I promise. I just really need to talk to someone who’s not in the fire department,” Johnny said. 

“I see. Well, thanks very much in advance for keeping me in suspense for the next twenty-four hours,” Dixie joked. “Let’s meet at Benny’s Diner. Would two be okay?”

Johnny thought about the diner, which was around the corner from the hospital. It would be loaded with people from Rampart, plus cops tended to take breaks there as well.

“Uh … two is good, but this conversation kind of has to be … private,” Johnny said, squirming a bit.

“Okay, then. Your place. I’ll bring the donuts,” Dixie said.

Johnny heaved a sigh of relief. “Perfect. I appreciate that. And _I’ll_ get the donuts, since I’m putting you to all this trouble.”

“All right—it’s a deal,” Dixie said. She had been to Johnny’s apartment many times, mostly to help out while he was still in the straight-leg cast, so she knew how to get there. 

“Great. See you then. Or,” Johnny amended, “the way this day has been going, I bet I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Probably. But I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow at two to hear the secret of the century,” Dixie said. “Now—I have to get back to work. Let’s hope things settle down a little, huh?”

“That’s for sure.”

With impeccable timing, Roy peered into the staff lounge just as Johnny and Dixie were standing to leave. With equally precise timing, the HT beeped and announced a call for Squad 51.

“Gotta go—see you soon!” Johnny said.

Roy drove to the next call, which was in a suburban area ten minutes from Rampart.

“So, did you tell her? She didn’t look like she’d just gotten a bombshell,” Roy said.

“Tomorrow. We’re having coffee tomorrow, and I’m gonna spill the beans. Stoker-approved beans, in case you’re wondering.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d—whoops, was that our turn? I’ll take the next one—spill those particular beans if he hadn’t signed off on it,” Roy said. 

“Yeah. And he’s gonna go out to his folks’ tomorrow for the day anyhow, so it’s the perfect time to hang out with someone else for a change. Which I really need to start doing.”

“Well, why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow, then?” Roy said.

“Actually, I’m hanging out with Chet. Gotta get the dirt on his date with Ginny from the admissions desk.”

“His _what_?”

Johnny laughed, and they filled the rest of the drive to the incident with cheerful speculation about Chet’s love life.

Their patient had only a minor hand injury, and didn’t need transportation to the hospital. In fact, Johnny reflected on their way back to the station, she really shouldn’t have called for emergency help to begin with. Sure, he and Roy always said “that’s what we’re here for,” but sometimes he felt like people should just call a friend, or a cab, rather than calling the fire department.

As the apparatus bay door opened, Johnny groaned, remembering Chet’s irritating sub. 

“I know,” Roy replied, not even having to ask what the problem was. “And we’re not even halfway through the shift yet.”

“At least Stoker’s cooking today,” Johnny said. “He’s making his mom’s lasagna. Which is terrific.”

“Good,” Roy said. “I could use something terrific right about now.”

The squad had two more runs that afternoon, and they were late for dinner. It didn’t matter, though, since the lasagna held up well in the oven. Mike set plates down in front of Roy and Johnny when they returned from their runs. They ate quickly, and had just finished when the entire station was called out to a motor vehicle accident with injuries. 

The squad arrived at the scene, which was in a construction zone on the highway. Roy pulled past the car to make room for the engine, which Mike positioned to protect the scene from oncoming traffic that might not be paying attention, since it was better to have a dented fire engine than a smashed crew.

Johnny and Roy got out of the squad and looked at the scene. A car had somehow rolled onto its roof, and then gotten wedged between two concrete barriers just off the shoulder that were in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time. The barriers formed a ‘V’ shape, with the front end of the car wedged as far as it would go into the tip of the ‘V’, and all four side doors blocked by the barricades. The only means of access, as far as the paramedics could see, was the crumpled rear windshield, which was less than a foot high after being compressed by the weight of the car. The posts that connected the roof to the heavy body of the car were sagging under weight they were never intended to hold.

Through the milky spiderweb of shattered laminated glass, Johnny could see movement.

“There’s definitely still someone alive in there,” he said, as Cap and Mike joined him at the rear of the car. 

“Think you could squeeze in there to get a look at the patients, Gage?” Cap asked.

Mike’s shoulders tensed up enough that Johnny could see it happening through the thick turnout gear.

“Sure thing, Cap, but to be honest, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go in until that car is stabilized,” Johnny said, shooting a glance at Mike. _Thinking three times, Mikey,_ he thought, hoping Mike could relax a little.

“No of course not. You’re right. Stoker, Lopez, Kurtz—let’s get some jacks in here. Those posts aren’t looking any too solid right now.” Cap said. “Gage, DeSoto—see what you can find out without putting yourselves inside the vehicle.”

Roy approached the car from the front, and Johnny got as close as he could to the rear windshield. “Fire department! Can anyone hear me in there?” Johnny shouted.

“Help!” a small voice cried. “We’re stuck!”

“All right—we’re gonna help you get out,” Johnny said, dying a little inside when he heard that the voice was a child’s. “Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“Okay. My daddy’s really stuck,” the voice said, muffled through the glass.

“How many people are inside the car?” Johnny asked.

“Just me and my daddy. He’s driving. I’m too little.”

“Okay, we’re gonna get you out, all right? Are you hurt?”

“My feet hurt a lot. They’re smushed under my daddy’s seat. And I’m upside down! I was crying, but Daddy said we’d be okay and I stopped because he said I’m a big boy.”

“And how about your dad?” Johnny asked.

“He said he wasn’t feeling good, and then he went to sleep. I can hear him snoring.”

“All right, kiddo,” Johnny said. “The other firemen and I are gonna get you and your dad out as soon as we can. You take it easy, okay?”

Roy returned from the front of the vehicle, and Johnny looked at him inquiringly. 

Roy shook his head. “I didn’t get any response from the front seat. I can’t see or hear a thing,” he said quietly.

“All right,” Cap said, overhearing the exchange. “You two pull out the rear windshield, for now, while the other guys are stabilizing this mess.”

“Copy that,” Johnny said. He crouched down at the back of the car again. “Hey, kiddo? What’s your name?”

“Uh, it’s really Bartholomew, but everyone calls me Buddy.”

Johnny imagined he could hear the kid blushing. “Okay, Buddy. My name’s Johnny. Here’s what’s gonna happen now. I want you to put your hands over your face, and keep your face pointed to the front of the car if you can. My friend Roy and I are gonna pull out the back window of the car so we can get to you.”

“Okay,” Buddy said wanly. “Should my daddy cover his face up too?”

Roy and Johnny looked at each other. “Is he awake?”

“No, he’s sleeping, I think. I can hear him snoring.”

“It’s okay, Buddy; I don’t think the glass from the back will get to the front.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Johnny stuck the pick end of his Halligan through a corner of the laminated glass, and put a good-sized hole in it. With a gloved hand, he carefully pulled sheets of pebbled glass away, while Roy did the same from the other side. Within two minutes, the rear of the car was open, and they could finally see inside.

Marco approached from the front of the vehicle.

“Cap, the front’s as stable as it’s gonna get,” he said. 

“Okay—John, Roy—pull out the front windshield while they’re jacking and cribbing the back, here,” Cap said. “Lopez, there’s a boy named Buddy inside, conscious and alert.”

“I’ll talk him through it,” Marco promised, as he and Kurtz and Mike began the process of shoring up the back of the car.

Johnny and Roy repeated the glass-removal process at the front of the vehicle, and were finally able to visualize their adult patient. 

He didn’t look good. He was unconscious, and crumpled against the steering column, or more accurately, the steering column was crumpled against him. He was wedged in tightly, and hanging upside-down. 

Johnny immediately recognized the snoring sound as the man’s tongue blocking his airway. 

“Roy—we gotta secure this guy’s airway. Toss me an NPA, will ya? Large.”

Roy grabbed the small rubber tube, flared on one end like the bell of a trumpet, that would slide through a nostril and between the man’s tongue and the back of his throat, and opened the package. He smeared the tube liberally with the surgical lubricant that would ease its journey through the nasal passage, and handed it carefully to Johnny. 

Johnny carefully but quickly inserted the airway, and the snoring sound ceased, as air was able to flow more freely through the tube, taking the path of least resistance.

“Let’s get some O2 on this guy,” Johnny said—unnecessarily, as it turned out, since Roy was already handing him an oxygen mask. Johnny placed the mask on their patient.

“Daddy? Did you wake up?” Buddy hollered from the back seat.

“Your dad’s still asleep, Buddy,” Johnny called. “We just gave him something to help him breathe better.”

“Oh. That’s good,” the child said. “Can we get out now?”

“Car’s cribbed, Gage!” Cap yelled from the rear of the car.

“Well, first things first, Buddy. I’m gonna sneak in here as best I can and see how you and your dad are doing. And my friends outside are gonna work on gettin’ us all outta here.”

“My feet are really, really, stuck!” Buddy cried. Johnny could hear a tremble in the child’s voice.

“I know, Buddy. But I think we’re gonna have to get your dad out first, because … uh, his seat is on your feet,” Johnny said. He didn’t want to completely lie to the child—it was true that the seat would have to move to extricate the child, but the main reason they had to get the dad out first was that he was in bad, bad shape.

He got his first set of vitals on the driver, which were discouraging. 

“Roy, some response to pain stimulus. Pulse 134, regular but thready, BP 90/54, respirations 30 and shallow,” he called to Roy. He could hear Roy relaying the information to Rampart. He gently palpated every part of the man he could reach.

“Roy, I’m not getting any major fractures or bleeding where I can reach. I think it’s …” Johnny thought for a second about how to word his findings so as not to alarm Buddy. “I think it’s all in the area of the steering wheel.”

“Understood,” Roy said.

Johnny stretched his arm as far as he could around the back of the bench seat, but wasn’t able to reach anywhere remotely near Buddy’s trapped feet. He slithered and wiggled his way out of the crumpled mess of the front passenger compartment, and stood up. The rest of the crew was getting ready to start the extrication process, gathering heavy tools and equipment.

“Roy, I’m gonna go check the kid out while you’re talking to Rampart. I think I oughta be able to get an IV in the dad from inside the vehicle,” Johnny said, as he climbed over one of the concrete barriers.

He grabbed a heavy canvas tarp from the pile of equipment the crew had assembled. He laid it down over the edge of where the back windshield had been, extending it over the ceiling, which was now the floor. He took a deep breath, and blew it out to flatten himself further as he wrestled his body into the tight space between the roof of the car and the top of the back seat. Lying on his back, he looked up and to the side, and could finally see the child he’d been talking to.

“Hi, Buddy. How’re you holdin’ up back here?”

“I’m not holding up. The seatbelt is holding me up,” Buddy said, with the literalness of the six-year-old that he appeared to be.

“Okay, then. How are you doing?”

“My feet really hurt,” Buddy said, voice quavering. “And there’s something in my eye. I keep rubbing it, but it’s sticky.”

“Well, it looks like maybe you have a little cut on your head, and it’s bleeding into your eye.”

“Oh,” Buddy said, voice sounding smaller than ever.

“Listen, I’m gonna check your pulse, and your blood pressure, and your breathing, so you just try not to talk for a minute, okay?”

The child didn’t answer, clearly heavily invested in following Johnny’s instructions to a ‘T.’ Rather than shouting out the vitals, he memorized the numbers.

“Buddy, I have to get out for a minute, and then I’m gonna get back in the front with your dad, okay? I’ll get right inside the car, and you’ll be able to see me and hear me just fine, okay?”

Buddy didn’t respond, and Johnny became alarmed until he realized the most likely reason for the child’s unresponsiveness.

“Oh—you can talk now,” he added.

“Okay,” Buddy said.

Johnny started to try to push himself out of the car, but he quickly realized that pulling himself in was an easier task than pushing himself out.

“Uh, Cap? Anyone out there?” Johnny said.

Someone patted his boot. “Yeah, I’m right here.”

Johnny smiled ever so slightly at hearing Mike’s voice.

“Can you maybe pull me out by my feet? I’m kinda not in a good position to push, here,” he said.

Familiar broad hands grabbed his ankles, and Johnny was soon out in daylight again. He took the hand Mike extended, and let Mike help him up. He held onto Mike’s hand a shade longer than necessary, and then let go to brush crumbs of glass off himself. The glass crumbs dropped into a pile of ropes and chains at their feet.

“Thanks,” he said to Mike, meaning _‘I’m glad to see you right now.’_

“You’re welcome,” Mike said, and Johnny knew he meant _‘thanks for being careful.’_

“How the heck are we gonna do this extrication?” Johnny said quietly, even though it was unlikely the child would understand what he was saying even if he could hear. “This looks pretty damned impossible.”

“Well, you know our Cap. He’s on the radio now with someone from the construction company who’s on the way, ETA ten minutes, to work the crane to move the barrier on the driver’s side.”

Johnny frowned at the vehicle. “Won’t it be mighty unstable once one of the barriers is gone?”

“Ah, that’s what Kurtz and Marco and I figured out. We’re gonna pass chains through the passenger compartment, and hold the car against the remaining barrier,” Mike said. “I’ll put tension on the chains by backing the engine a bit.”

“That sounds pretty reasonable,” Johnny said. He gestured to Roy, who was motioning to him. “I gotta take care of the driver, but I’ll help pass chains through when I can.”

Johnny crossed over to the front of the car, where Roy had just finished on the radio with Rampart.

“They want normal saline, wide open, and monitor as possible,” Roy said. “You sure you’re gonna be okay in there?”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah. No way you’ll fit. I need to help pass some chains through the car anyhow, so I can do that in between monitoring vitals. ‘Cause we really gotta get this guy outta here.” 

He returned to the front of the car, and reported in to Rampart on the boy’s condition. He filled Roy in on the plan, and got back inside the car.

~!~!~!~

Mike watched as Johnny slithered into the front of the car through the narrow opening between the dashboard and the roof. He hated comparing his boyfriend to a snake, but there wasn’t a better word to reflect the apparent ease with which he managed to get himself into the tight space.

“Stoker,” Cap said, causing Mike to jump as he turned.

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Sorry. You talk to Gage about the plan?” Cap asked.

“Yeah. He’s in the car.”

“Good. Kurtz, Marco, you two work with Gage on getting those chains through. Stoker, you get the chains anchored to the eyebolts on the engine. By the time we’ve got that done, the crane operator oughta be here, and then we can start cutting. Stoker, I’ll want you on the Jaws; this is gonna be a delicate operation.”

Everyone nodded. Cap clapped his gloved hands sharply. “Okay, boys, let’s not wait for that crane guy to show up. We want everything ready the second he gets here.”

Mike made quick work of anchoring the chains to the front of the engine, and returned to the scene to help get the chains in place around the vehicle. 

The final chain just wasn’t going where they wanted it to.

Johnny’s muffled voice emerged from the car. “I can’t reach back that far.”

Cap looked at the trio of firemen before him. “Stoker, Lopez, you’re both about the same, uh, diameter, but Mike, you’ve got longer arms. See if you can squeeze into the back seat and help Gage pass that chain through.”

Mike nodded, but looked skeptically at the opening where the rear windshield used to be. 

“No way I’m fitting with my coat on,” he said, stripping off the coat and laying it down over the edge of the window frame. He lay down on his back, and craned his neck to see where he was going. He could see a small hand dangling in his path.

“Hey, kiddo—I’m Mike. I’m another fireman. I’m coming in to help for a minute, okay?”

“Okay. I sure hope you’re skinny like Johnny, because there’s not a lotta room in here,” Buddy said.

“Yeah, I know,” Mike said. He grunted as he crammed himself through the opening, and bit back a swear word as the top of the back seat compressed his lower chest as he breathed. 

“Gage? Where’s that chain?” Mike said.

“Mikey? How’d you even get in here?”

“Just … where’s the chain?” Mike said, each shallow breath a struggle.

“Here,” Johnny said.

Mike could hear the chain rattle slightly behind his head. He made all manner of unpleasant sounds as he wrenched his arm over his head in the tight quarters, and finally connected a hand with some part of Johnny’s arm. He felt his way towards him, and got a hand on the chain.

“’kay,” he gasped.

“Got it?” Johnny asked.

“Yep,” Mike grunted. His muscles screamed as he extended his arm as far as he could towards the side window.

Johnny read his mind, and shouted. “Hey, Mike’s got the chain up to the window! Someone grab it already!”

A gloved hand contacted Mike’s hand, and a disembodied voice said “Got it!”

Mike let go with relief, and started to try to make his way out of the car. He put a hand over his head and pushed on the seat in front of him, but didn’t budge.

“Shit,” he gasped. “Stuck!” He forced himself to breathe slowly, and as deeply as possible in his current compressed situation. 

“You said a bad word,” Buddy said, sounding impressed.

“Hey!” Johnny shouted again. “Someone pull Mike out, right now!”

Mike tried to stay calm, but was starting to get that feeling like he couldn’t breathe. And this time it was true. He reminded himself that if he got in, he’d be able to get out, but he couldn’t help it that his heart was pounding. A pair of hands grabbed his boots and pulled, but he still didn’t budge.

He must have made some kind of sound—probably a girly, squeaky sound, Mike realized in dismay.

“Mikey, they’re gettin’ you out, okay? Try to slow down your breathing,” Johnny said, quietly enough that nobody else would hear.

The car creaked, and Mike swore that the pressure on his chest and abdomen increased. He breathed harder and faster as he imagined the weight of the car coming down on top of him, cutting off his ability to breathe. A second later, though, he heard the clicking sound that must have been someone using the bottle jacks stabilizing the car to raise it ever so slightly, and the pressure eased. The jacks stopped clicking, and the hands that had been busy pumping the jacks up a few centimeters grabbed his ankles again, and pulled him right out.

He lay there, exhausted, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. Cap looked down at him.

“Whoa, you okay there, pal?” Cap asked.

Mike nodded as he panted. He still couldn’t seem to catch his breath, even though he was no longer being squeezed by the car. 

“Sit up,” Cap said, reaching a hand down to pull Mike up.

Mike sat up, and tried to catch his breath. He knew he should probably be breathing into a paper bag, but if he did that in front of Cap … well, it was irrelevant, because it wasn’t going to happen. He forced himself to hold his breath for a few seconds, and was able to break out of the hyperventilation cycle.

“Sorry,” Mike said, when he had control over his breathing. “I really got squeezed in there. Took me a minute to catch my breath.”

“Well, if the crane operator weren’t going to be looking for me any second, I would’ve gone in myself, since I might just be a little longer and skinnier than you,” Cap said. “But—oh, that’s gotta be him. Dispatch said he’d have a police escort. Make sure everything’s ready to pull those chains, then get the engine ready to back.”

“Got it,” Mike said. He picked up his turnout coat, and while he was bent down, he shouted into the car. 

“Hey, Johnny? The crane operator’s here. We’ll have that barrier moved soon, and then we’ll get you guys out of there.”

“Make your best time, Mike,” Johnny said, using the phrase that meant ‘hurry the hell up, this guy’s really bad,’ but wouldn’t alarm any family listening.

“Copy that,” Mike replied. He coordinated briefly with Marco and Kurtz, and they agreed the chains were ready to be pulled by the engine.

He leaned down by the front opening of the car.

“Hey, Johnny? I’m gonna tighten up the chains, to pull the car up against the barrier that’s gonna stay in place. Expect some minor shifting, but give a holler to Marco if it doesn’t seem right, and I’ll quit.”

“Okay. Thanks for the warning,” Johnny said.

Mike returned to the engine, and when Marco gave him the signal, he backed up about a foot, until he could see the chain tighten. Marco motioned for him to back up a little more, and then held both forearms up crossed in the ‘X’ signal to stop.

Mike waited in the driver’s seat and watched at the crane operator began removing the Jersey barrier from the far side of the vehicle. Within two minutes, the barrier was gone. The plan had worked--the car was held tightly against the remaining barrier by the tension of the chains. He relaxed the shoulders he hadn’t realized were tensed so hard, when he saw that his boyfriend was not, in fact, going to be crushed by a car that rolled despite their careful precautions.

Mike set the brake, and got out of the driver’s seat. He retrieved some bright yellow ‘fire scene’ tape from behind his seat, and looped it around the steering wheel, and over the door, as a signal to anyone who might be tempted to move the engine that they mustn’t do so.

Back at the car, Mike and Cap looked at the driver’s side, which was now completely exposed. Kurtz was trying to pry the door open, but it wasn’t working. Marco had already started the generator that powered the hydraulic compressor that ran the Jaws of Life, which looked like it would be the best tool to start with. The Jaws could pop the hinges on the door without the vibrations and sparks that the K-12 would cause.

“I’m gonna start with the Jaws, Cap,” Mike said. “We might need the K-12. We’ll see.”

“Do it,” Cap said.

Mike jammed the closed tip of the hydraulic jaws, which resembled gigantic pliers, between the door and the frame, on the side of the door with the hinges. The hinges tended to be weaker than the door-latch assembly. Before he started, he could hear Johnny in the car talking to the child, who was crying again.

The powerful jaws opened, prying the metal of the door and the frame away from each other as Mike kept the tool in place, using all his body weight to push it against the car with his hip as his hands kept the alignment where he wanted it. 

After a minute, the hinges popped, and Kurtz tried the pry-bar again, but the door was still jammed firmly in place. There was no other solution--he’d have to cut the latch off the door with the K-12. 

“No dice with the Jaws,” he called into the car. “Gonna have to cut.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. 

Once again Mike heard Johnny speaking to the child. Mike picked up the saw, which Marco had already fired up, and started cutting. Sparks flew, and the metal screamed as it parted. Each time he backed off to see where he’d gotten, he could hear the child screaming hysterically, and could hear Johnny desperately trying to comfort him. The adults knew, though, that time was of the essence, and getting the boy’s father out of the car was an immediate imperative.

Mike had learned to ignore any sounds he heard coming from entrapped victims he was helping to extricate, but he hadn’t yet learned to ignore the fact that his boyfriend was inside the twisted piece of metal he was trying to overpower with his tools. Except for the lack of pain, which, Mike admitted, was a big difference, Johnny wasn’t much better off than the victims. He was scrunched into a tight space, breathing impeded by the pressure of the car against his body. The sounds inside the vehicle would be deafening. The car would be creaking and shifting, and Johnny would certainly have the feeling that everything could come crashing down on top of him at any second, crushing his body into a lump that wouldn’t be able to breathe. And of course, there was always the unhappy feeling that a spark from the saw against the metal could start up a fire.

 _Focus, Stoker,_ he told himself. _The faster you get done, the faster he gets out. The faster they_ all _get out_.

He steadied his hand, and braced the weight of the saw against his thigh, and continued cutting. Thirty second and thousands of sparks later, the latch assembly yielded, and he backed away. Kurtz and Marco hauled on the door, and it came away from the car. The driver’s left arm, freed from its entrapment against the door, dangled, fingers touching the pavement.

Roy was standing by with the backboard and trauma kit. Mike assisted in the rapid extrication that was required now that the victim was accessible, guarding the arm with the IV and passing the bag of fluids out of the car as Roy, Marco, Kurtz, and Cap got the still-unresponsive patient on the backboard. Johnny remained in the vehicle with the child, who was still whimpering after the undoubtedly terrifying experience he’d just endured.

Once the man was backboarded and under Roy’s care, the firefighters turned their attention to extricating the child. 

“Cap, can I borrow Stoker for a little while?” Johnny asked from the front seat. “Our passenger has already met him.”

“Sure thing, Gage. The rest of us guys are just gonna do some mopping up,” Cap replied.

“You think we can slide the seat forwards, Johnny?” Mike asked.

“Worth a try,” Johnny said. “You hear that, Buddy? My friend’s gonna try to move the seat so we can get your feet out. If it hurts a lot more, I want you to say, okay?”

“Okay,” Buddy sniffled. “Is my daddy okay?”

“My friend Roy’s getting him to the hospital right now,” Johnny said. “They’re gonna take really good care of him. And Mike should have you out in a jiffy.”

“Are you the one who got scared before?” Buddy asked.

Mike laughed. “You bet, pal. Lemme tell you, you’re doing a super job of being brave. I was really scared in the back of the car, but you’re doing great.”

“I’m really scared, too,” Buddy said.

“It’s okay to be scared. Now, I wanna get you out of here, okay? I’m gonna move the seat forward really slowly. You yell if it hurts a lot more, or if it seems like it’s getting tighter instead of looser, okay?”

“Yeah,” Buddy said.

Mike felt around under—or above, in this case—the driver’s side of the bench seat, until he found the bar that would slide the seat forward. He squeezed the bar towards the underside of the seat. As soon as he did, the seat shot forward, and Buddy yelped.

“You okay?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah—the seat just flew off my feet! I can get out now,” Buddy said. Mike saw him starting to undo his seatbelt.

“Whoa, whoa, there, pardner—lemme give you a hand,” Mike said. “You’re hanging upside down like a bat. And I don’t want you to hurt your feet any more. So we’re gonna let Johnny come out here, and then the two of us will make sure you get out safely.”

“Okay.”

There was rustling and banging from the front seat.

“Uh, Mike? Can you pull me out again?”

Mike chuckled, and once again hauled on Johnny’s boots. He pulled Johnny to a standing position, and they were briefly face to face.

“Hey,” Johnny said quietly, grinning.

“Hey, yourself. Let’s get our little passenger out.”

“Okay.”

Both men knelt down next to the open side of the car.

“Okay, Buddy—how about this. I’m gonna hold you up, while Mike undoes your seatbelt and gets it outta the way. Mike’s gonna hold onto your legs, because I don’t want your sore feet to bump anything. How does that sound?”

“Good, I guess. My feet really, really hurt,” Buddy said. Mike could hear trembling in the child’s voice again. “And, uh …”

“What, Buddy? Is something else hurt? Because if it is, I need to know. It’s really important to keep you safe,” Johnny said.

“No,” Buddy said in a tiny voice. “But …” He began to cry again. “I think I had an accident,” he said through his sobs.

“Aw, that’s okay,” Johnny said. “Grown-ups have accidents when something like this happens too, let me tell you. But we’ll put a blanket on you anyhow, and nobody will ever know.”

“Okay.” Buddy let out a shuddering breath. “I’m ready to get out.”

In one coordinated movement, Mike and Johnny removed the child from the car, setting him gently on the blanket that someone had already set out for them. Mike wrapped the blanket around the child, ignoring the damp spot on his front. It was less easy for him to ignore the bloody left shoe, though. 

“What can I get, Gage?”

“Weeeeell, I think the biophone has already gone with Roy,” Johnny said. “So let’s have dispatch get a relay going to Rampart. So I’ll need an HT, and the drug box and the trauma box.”

“Got it,” Mike said.

He retrieved an HT, and talked to the dispatcher to get the relay going. He moved the equipment Johnny needed from where Roy had left it in front of the car. 

“Where’s my daddy?” Buddy asked.

“Remember, my friend Roy is taking him to the hospital in an ambulance. They might already even be there already. And you and me are gonna go to the same hospital, in another ambulance, in just a minute,” Johnny said, as he wrote the boy’s vital signs down in a small notebook. “Okay—I’m gonna take your shoes off, as gently as I can, so I can take a look.”

Buddy whimpered as Johnny eased the right shoe off, and outright screamed as the left shoe came off. Johnny subtly maneuvered the bright yellow blanket to shield the foot from the child’s vision. Mike wished he couldn’t see it, either, but that wasn’t really important.

“Sorry, Buddy; I know that really hurt. It looks like your left foot is broken,” Johnny said. “I’m gonna wrap it up before we get in the ambulance, to keep it safe on the way. That’s gonna hurt a little—not like getting your shoe off, though. And then we’ll go to the hospital, and they’ll take real good care of you. Mike, hand me a vacuum splint, will ya?”

Mike handed Johnny the splint and the pump, along with the HT, as the dispatcher had made the phone patch to Rampart. For the next few minutes, Mike’s job was mostly to help keep Buddy calm while Johnny started an IV and splinted his crushed foot, which went better than Mike had thought it might, probably thanks to a couple milligrams of morphine. He held the kid’s hand on the way to the ambulance, and waved goodbye as he shut the doors. He slapped the rear doors twice in a signal to the driver that they were ready to roll, and returned to the scene.

Marco and Kurtz were returning equipment to the engine, and Cap was talking with a sheriff’s deputy. Cap looked up when Mike approached.

“Stoker—we’re all set, I think. How’s the kid?”

Mike shook his head. “Tough as nails, Cap. One of his feet was pretty badly crushed under the seat. But he’s doing pretty well. I’m sure Johnny will follow up at Rampart sometime tonight.”

Cap sighed. “Well, Roy said the driver was touch and go. I just wish we hadn’t taken so long with the extrication.”

Mike looked back at the car, which the wrecker was just starting to right. “I don’t see what we could’ve done differently, even Monday-morning-quarterbacking it right now. It was just a totally bizarre situation.”

“That’s for sure,” Cap said. “We’ve seen cars on their lids, and we’ve had situations where all four doors have been blocked, but never anything quite like this.”

“It’d make a good case study for a training exercise,” Mike said.

Cap raised his eyebrows. “Good thinking, Stoker! Say, if we have some spare time on our next shift, why don’t you write it up?”

“Sure,” Mike said.

“That’s some good Captain-like thinking, there, Mike.”

“Uh, thanks, Cap! And—sorry about freaking out, there,” Mike said, feeling like that uncomfortable moment needed to be acknowledged. 

Cap waved him off. “Hell, you were fine, Stoker. I could see the posts were compressing. Anyone would’ve felt a little tight in that situation.”

Mike knew he’d been close to panicking, but he also knew he’d gotten himself out of the panic attack just fine. So what Cap didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

“Thanks, Cap.”

“Any time, pal. Now, whaddaya say we get back to the barn?”

“Sounds good.”

~!~!~!~

Two hours later, it was half an hour after lights out when the squad returned from a solo run. Mike was once again having tea in the ready room, so Johnny went in to have a quiet bedtime chat with him. 

“Hey, you still up?” Johnny asked.

“No, I’m asleep in my bunk. The guy you’re talking to is just a hallucination.”

“Oh,” Johnny said. “Well, I’ll talk to you anyhow, even if you’re a figment of my imagination. Buddy’s doing just fine, by the way. They were prepping him for surgery on that foot when Roy and I dropped off our last patient.”

“Good,” Mike said. “And dare I ask how his father is?”

Johnny sighed. “Well, Brackett said he should make it, if there aren’t any complications, but the head injury was bad enough it’ll be a while before they can tell how he’s really gonna be. And with a chest-crushing injury like that, and the length of time it took to get him out … there’s a lot of potential for complications.”

“I guess so,” Mike said. He cleared his throat. His next words were so quiet that Johnny had to lean forward to hear him. “So, uh, this isn’t the right time to go into detail, obviously, but I wanted to tell you that I think we did real well together tonight.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, “we did. Were you okay on the Jaws and the K-12?”

“I was, actually. I mean, I was sure aware of … where everyone was, but … yeah, I did okay.” 

“Good,” Johnny said. “And I wanted to remind you of one thing, in case we don’t see each other before you head to your folks’ tomorrow.”

“What’s that?” Mike asked.

“Just that I’m talking to Dixie tomorrow,” Johnny said. 

“I know. I remember. It’s still fine,” Mike said quietly, smiling at Johnny.

“Okay. Good. Thanks.”

**TBC**


	43. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two important conversations happen.

**Chapter 43: Conversations**

  
  


Mike and Johnny had a nap at Johnny’s place, and then a quick brunch before Mike headed out to Palm Springs to visit his parents. Johnny made French toast, while Mike talked about his plans.

“I’m just gonna play it by ear with my father,” he said. “Last time, we did so much better. But this has to be at his pace, so I’m not gonna push it.”

“Sounds like maybe his mind is opening up a little, though,” Johnny said. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“Maybe,” Mike said, shaking his head. “But honestly, I’m just hoping that every time I see him, we’ll be on slightly better terms.”

“That’s a good plan—though I guess it’s not really a plan, since you can’t do anything about it.”

“I can, though. I can be rational with him. He likes to be logical.”

Johnny chuckled. “So that’s where you get that from, then?”

“I suppose,” Mike said, as he spread butter on his French toast. “When I was a kid, though, I was pretty sure I’d been switched in the hospital with some other people’s baby.”

“Yeah, but you look exactly like your dad,” Johnny said. “Your mom showed me a picture when she was here.”

“Well, that just goes to show looks can be deceiving,” Mike said. “Anyhow. I don’t want to think about this for a little while. Tell me about what you have planned for Dixie?”

“Aw, nothin’, really. Just to spill the beans, and chat with her. She came over a lot right after I got outta the hospital. She was still in a cast from breaking her ankle, so she couldn’t work, and I couldn’t do a damned thing because of all the drugs. We had some great talks,” Johnny said.

“And I’ll bet you’ll have another great one this afternoon,” Mike said. “I fully expect my ears to be burning a five-alarm fire at, say, two-ten this afternoon.”

“In the nicest possible way,” Johnny said. “Ya know, I’m actually really excited to be able to tell someone.”

“Good,” Mike said. He looked at his watch. “Shoot, I have to get going.”

“Go,” Johnny said. “I’ll clean up. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah—sixish, my place, right?”

“Uh huh. See you then,” Mike said.

Johnny walked him to the door, and they kissed goodbye.

Johnny tidied up the apartment a bit, not that it really needed it, but he was somewhat at a loss about what to do with himself when Mike wasn’t there.

“Read a book, Gage,” Johnny said to himself. “Do some laundry. Watch TV. Go get the donuts, then just do somethin’, ya mopey dope.”

Two hours later, Johnny had accomplished some mundane household tasks, gotten muffins and donuts from the bakery around the corner, and was ready when Dixie arrived.

“Hey, Dix—c’mon in,” Johnny said, holding the door open for her.

“Thanks, Johnny,” Dixie said. She put her purse down on the table in the foyer, and looked around.

“Yeah, I know, it looks a lot better than last time you were here, right?” Johnny said.

“I didn’t say that,” Dixie replied.

“You don’t have to. I know it’s true. C’mon—I’ve got coffee and stuff all ready.”

Johnny poured them both coffee, and waited until Dixie had selected a muffin before making his own choice. They ate silently for a moment, until Dixie suddenly set her muffin down on the plate.

“You’re killing me here, Johnny.”

“Yeah, okay, okay.” He set his coffee down, and tipped his chair back on two legs. Dixie looked at him, and he put the chair back down on all fours. “This isn’t easy,” he said.

Dixie raised her eyebrows. “I can see that. But I thought you told me everything was okay, and that you wanted to tell me some good news.”

“Yeah, it is, but … okay, here’s the thing. In order to tell you the good news, I hafta tell you something about myself that I don’t usually tell people, and would make some people … think poorly of me.”

“Try me,” Dixie said.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, wiping his palms on his thighs. “Okay. So here we go. I don’t just like women.”

Dixie blinked twice, and took a sip of her coffee. “So, you’re bisexual? Okay.”

“You’re not, like, surprised? Or shocked?”

“Would you like me to be?” Dixie asked, looking him right in the eye. “I could pretend, if you want.”

“Uh, not really,” Johnny said. “Okay.”

Dixie laughed, but they knew each other well enough to know she wasn’t laughing at his expense. “Look, Johnny. You can’t be head nurse in a busy ER in a major city without having seen it all, and I mean _all_. Just like you. Nurses who don’t have at least somewhat of an open mind don’t make it in the ER. So one of my friends is bisexual? That’s fine with me.”

Johnny sighed, and some of the tension left his body. “That’s great, Dix. Thanks.”

“No problem,” she said. “But I kind of think that’s not what you _really_ wanted to talk about, right?”

“Right,” Johnny said, reaching for another pastry now that the knots in his stomach had untangled a bit. “See, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve been in a pretty good mood, all in all, for the last few months.”

“I have noticed,” Dixie said, smiling slightly. “And I bet you’re about to tell me who put you in such a good mood.”

“Uh huh. He gave me permission to tell you. Unless you wanna guess,” Johnny said. “I kinda have a feeling you maybe have an inkling who it might be.”

“Hmm,” Dixie said. “If you want to put it that way … okay, I’ll bite. No offense to him if I’m totally off base, but it’s Mike Stoker, right?”

“Uh huh,” Johnny said. “I thought you maybe suspected. So, how obvious are we?”

“You’re not obvious at all,” Dixie said. “My most important job when I was in the ER treatment room with the two of you was to observe, and let me tell you, I observed. I’d only ever met Mike in passing before—mainly when you or one of your crew landed in the ER for something serious. But you, I know well, and your concern for him and the way you looked out for him was … different from how you look out for the other guys. Plus he called you ‘babe’ once, right in front of me and Roy, and Roy looked like he just about had to leave the room. I assume he knows about this?”

Johnny nodded. “And what else gave it away?”

“Well, usually someone with a head injury like his would be asking questions about himself, and what happened, and what was going to happen, over and over. But he was pretty fixated on you, and there were a couple times I noticed that you cut him off before he finished saying something that I’m guessing now would’ve been … revealing?”

“Yeah, you got that right,” Johnny said, shaking his head. “Man, he was somethin’ else. I guess it’s kinda funny now, but he was real upset about it, since he’s normally a guy who keeps things quiet, and he woulda been really, really mad at himself if he’d spilled the beans about us, which he almost did three or four times.”

“At first, I honestly just thought he had a little crush on you, and let me tell you, I see that sort of thing in my job _all_ the time,” Dixie said. “Firemen and cops—just … wow. There are some stories there, for another time. Anyhow, when I really paid attention to _you_ , I could see there was something pretty deep between the two of you. But again, until you pretty much told me just now that you were seeing a man, I didn’t put the whole picture entirely together.”

“Oh,” Johnny said. “Well—you got it right. It’s him.”

“Tell me about him, Johnny. He must be really special, considering how happy you’ve been lately.”

Johnny’s lips quirked up in a fond grin. “Yeah, he’s somethin’ all right. It’s funny—we got to be good friends when I was holed up at Rampart last fall. We’d never really hung out all that much—I mean, he came to some of the social things the whole crew did, like a cookout at someone’s place or what have you, but that’s about it. He’s always been pretty tight-lipped about anything personal.”

“Well, if I were a gay man, and worked where you work, I think I’d probably be the same, to be honest,” Dixie said, frowning.

“Yeah, I sure as heck never said anything about that part of my life,” Johnny said. “And I guess in retrospect I probably said too much about chasin’ women. To make up for the other stuff, I guess.”

Dixie smiled. “Well, you certainly never made a secret of being interested in certain nurses around Rampart. But tell me more about Mike.”

Johnny looked into space for a few seconds. “I think he’s probably one of the smartest guys I know. Not just about fire stuff, but about everything. That’s another reason why he’s quiet, I think, is that the wheels are always turning. Which is sometimes a problem for him, actually.”

“Why?” Dixie said. “I would’ve thought being a thinker was a good thing.”

Johnny shook his head. “Not when you can’t turn it off.”

“Oh,” Dixie said. “Yeah, I know about that one. Let me guess—you’re the type where if you don’t want to think about something, you can just stop thinking about it, right?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, “but he’s not, and I get now how hard that is.” He frowned, realizing he was getting into sensitive territory that they weren’t really ready for yet.

“Anyhow. He’s also really thoughtful. He pays attention to other people, and even though he doesn’t say much, he always seems to know what to say. Like yesterday, we had a really nasty MVA, with about the weirdest extrication situation I’ve ever seen. There was a scared little kid in the back seat, and Mike helped me with him. He knew all the right things to say to the kid. And he’s like that with the guys, too, except mostly they don’t even really notice.”

“Hmm, that’s a talent, actually—saying things that make people feel better, without them even noticing,” Dixie said. “Good nurses can do that. Maybe I can snag him for my profession if he ever gets tired of being a fireman.”

“No way, Dix—you don’t want a nurse who gets lightheaded when they see blood, or if they get blood on themselves, has to …”

“Has to what?” Dixie asked.

“Never mind,” Johnny said. “And here’s another thing. He _gets_ me, Dix. He really, really _gets_ me. He never makes me feel dumb, or crazy, or tries to get me to calm down, or whatever. He never makes me feel childish or immature.”

“So, does that mean he makes you feel the opposite of those things?” Dixie asked, smiling at Johnny’s convoluted expressions of happiness.

“Yeah—yeah, he does. I guess that’s maybe a better way of putting it. He makes me feel like an adult. A capable person who’s worth more than just the job I do. And you know what?”

“What, Johnny?”

“For the first time ever, the other day, I was thinking how nice it’ll be to retire someday.”

“With him, huh?” Dixie asked.

“Yeah. But for now, we just have to work on working together without getting caught. Which ain’t easy, let me tell you,” Johnny said.

“Should one of you maybe get a transfer?” Dixie asked. “I mean, not that it’s any of my business, but it doesn’t seem like the best idea for you to be working a dangerous job with someone you’re in love with. Not to put words in your mouth, but that’s the picture I’ve gotten, here.”

Johnny sniffed and smiled at the same time. “Yeah, you got the right picture. And I asked for a transfer. But Cap’n Stanley said no. If I coulda told him the _real_ reason, then he woulda said yes in a flash. That is, if we didn’t both just get fired. But I can’t. Obviously.”

“You can’t tell him the truth, even though he seems like a reasonable, fair-minded person, because it puts him in an awkward position,” Dixie added. “You’ve got a complicated situation, Johnny.”

Johnny sighed. “Now _that’s_ the understatement of the century. I really hate that I can’t tell most of my friends about him. Hell, most of my friends _know_ him. Roy knows about us, but it’s not right to talk to Roy about stuff that’s going on with me and Mike, because he has to work with Mike too, so … aw, I don’t know what I mean.”

Dixie put another donut on his plate, and topped up both their coffee mugs. “I think I know what you’re missing,” she said. “And I think _you_ do, too.”

“Okay, yeah. I’m missing someone who knows me well, but doesn’t know him, who I can bitch to about him,” Johnny said.

Dixie made a game-show-hostess gesture towards herself. “Here I am,” she said. “Bitch away.”

Johnny stared at his plate. “I guess I’m terrible at being subtle.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t put it _that_ way. I suppose you could’ve just come right out and said what you needed. But this is a tricky situation, and I can see you wanting to feel me out a little first,” Dixie said.

“That’s pretty much exactly it,” Johnny said sheepishly. “And just so you know—I have Mike’s total permission to complain to you.”

“Handy,” Dixie said. “Who does _he_ complain to?”

“Uh …” Johnny opened and closed his mouth, fishlike, realizing all at once that even though Mike could complain to Dr. Pritchard, it wasn’t the same as talking to a friend. Plus, Mike’s relationship with Johnny would certainly outlast his relationship with the psychiatrist. “I guess he doesn’t really have a friend to really talk to. I guess maybe he and I need to talk about that.”

“Good plan,” Dixie said, nodding. “Now—eat that donut, or I’m going to worry that you’re nervous about this conversation.”

Johnny blinked at the donut, picked it up, and bit off half of it all at once. “Nah,” he said, realizing it was true. “Not anymore.”

“Good. So—what else do you want to tell me? Oh,” Dixie said, rubbing her hands together with glee, “here’s something you wouldn’t talk about with Roy. Sex.”

Johnny stopped mid-chew, and gaped at her, not bothering to swallow his food first. “Geez, Dix,” he said, and then sipped his coffee to clear his mouth. His face felt hot, and he was sure he was as red as, well, a fire engine.

“Well?” Dixie said, her grin belying her innocent tone of voice. “If we’re gonna talk like girlfriends, then we might as well talk like girlfriends.”

“Um,” Johnny said, still blushing furiously. “Uh, I dunno, Dix. It’s … um.”

“I’m guessing from the huge grin you’ve been walking around with on your face lately that there aren’t any complaints or problems in that area?” Dixie said serenely, as if they were talking about prices at the local supermarkets.

‘No! He’s … uh, we’re … everything’s great. Terrific. And—and—and just great.” Johnny stuffed half a donut in his mouth, and chewed for a long, long time.

“There is one thing I’m curious about, though,” Dixie said, still ignoring Johnny’s embarrassment.

Johnny laid his forehead on the table. “What,” he said, face down.

“How?” Dixie asked. “I mean, what exactly happened?”

“Geez, Dix,” Johnny said again, forehead still on the table. “I thought you said you’d seen it _all_. I guess I’m not cut out for this talking-like-girlfriends thing.”

Dixie laughed out loud. “No, not _that_!” She dissolved in a fit of laughter, clutching her midsection. “All I meant was, how did you get together in the first place? How in the world do two men in a profession like yours find out that dating each other is even a possibility?”

“Oh.” Johnny cleared his throat. “Right.” He told her the story, much the way he’d explained it to Roy several months ago. When he was done, he recalled Roy’s reaction when he barely even mentioned sex, and then realized he’d been had.

“You were just messin’ with me, right? With the thing about talkin’ like girlfriends?” Johnny asked, peering at Dixie through squinting eyes.

Dixie laughed again. “Okay, you caught me. I just wanted to get a teensy reaction out of you.”

“I hope you weren’t disappointed,” Johnny replied. “But I’ll stand by what I said before, on that extremely personal topic, thank you very much. And I’ll add one more thing, now that I know you’re messin’ with me.”

“And what’s that?” Dixie asked, eyes sparkling.

“Lemme tell ya, Dix. My boyfriend is extremely, totally, unbelievably _hot,_ ” Johnny said, taking another bite of donut and chewing slowly. “Cold shower in the middle of the day hot. Wake up in the middle of the night hot. And every time in between.”

Dixie blushed this time, but laughed again. “Well, I suppose I had that coming to me.”

“Yep.”

“I was wondering, actually …” Dixie said, after a pause, not looking at Johnny.

“Oh boy. Lay it on me,” Johnny said.

“It seems like men think about sex allllll the time. So if two men are in a relationship …” she trailed off, blushing furiously.

Johnny laughed. “Let me put it this way. There’s no shortage of action. When we’re at home. We do have a strict rule, though, that any hanky panky, or even thinking about hanky panky, is totally off limits on the job. But the rest of the time? Well, that grin on my face, as you put it, is completely, one hundred percent, totally justified. In spades. And I’m gonna quit now, because you’re redder than I was a few minutes ago. But you started it.”

“I did, didn’t I,” Dixie said.

Johnny refilled both their coffee mugs.

“On a different note, I’m serious, Johnny, that you can unload to me, too. I can’t say I understand the specifics of how difficult your situation must be, but I know a thing or two about workplace romance,” Dixie said, “plus the need to unload from time to time.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said. “And by the way—did that mean what I think it meant?”

“Well, what did you think it meant?”

“Well, I hafta say, me an’ Roy always wondered if you and Dr. Brackett were a thing for a while,” Johnny said.

Dixie sighed. “Yes, it meant what you thought it meant. We were on-again, off-again for ages, until I finally called it quits, maybe the second year that you and Roy worked together. And during all of it—the ons, and the offs, and everything in between, it was really important to me that I had friends who knew who he was, but didn’t really know him, who I could unload on. So I really mean it—any time you need to, talk to me, okay?”

“Thanks, Dix,” Johnny said. “I know there’ll be times. Don’t get me wrong—things are going great. But he’s got some stuff going on that I sometimes don’t really get. I try—I really do. But … well, remember the thing I said about him not being able to turn his brain off?”

Dixie nodded.

“It’s more than that. It’s real hard for him, sometimes. And I do my best not to get frustrated with him, but that isn’t always easy. I know I’m gonna need to unload, sometime. So thanks.”

“Sure, Johnny. It’s been really nice to see how happy you’ve been lately, so anything I can do to help out with making sure that keeps going, I’ll do.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said.

They both sipped their coffee quietly for a moment.

“So, where’s Mike today?” Dixie asked.

“He’s at his folks. They’re retired, out in Palm Springs.”

“Have you met them?”

Johnny made a face. “I met his mom—she came out to help us out after we got sprung from Rampart a coupla weeks back.”

“Did you not get along?” Dixie asked. “I mean, that was quite a face.”

“No, no—we got along great. It’s just that his father is … well, let’s put it this way. There were a number of years where he and Mike didn’t speak to each other. His dad … doesn’t approve.”

“That’s difficult,” Dixie said.

“Yeah,” Johnny sighed, “but it sounds like he might be coming around. At least a little. Mike’s hoping that after this visit, maybe things’ll be better.”

“That would be good,” Dixie said.

“Yeah,” Johnny said.

Johnny stared into his cup during another short silence.

“You know, Dix, I was never sure if I would ever settle down. And I sure as hell didn’t think I’d ever settle down with a guy—I mean, my options were wide open. But he’s it, Dix. He’s the one. It ain’t gonna be easy. But there’s no way I’m doin’ anything else.”

Dixie leaned back and smiled at Johnny. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Johnny. I’m really happy for you.”

“Yeah, Dix. Me too. I’m happy for me, too.”

~!~!~!~

_Palm Springs, at the driving range._

“Damn it!” Mike said, as the tiny white ball careened off to the right yet again. He glared at the driver he was holding.

“You’re swinging it like you’d swing any other club,” Chuck Stoker said.

“Uh, I didn’t know you were supposed to swing differently for different clubs,” Mike said.

“Your swing needs to be in a plane that’s flatter, like this,” Chuck replied, demonstrating the swing. “You were doing it like this,” he said, showing a different swing, “but it’ll work better if you try this.” Chuck demonstrated one more swing.

Mike looked at his father, trying not to lose his patience. “They looked the same to me, to be honest.”

Chuck frowned, then brightened. “Oh—of course. Stand over there instead—then you’ll be able to see the difference.”

Mike stood where his father sent him, and watched again.

“Oh,” he said.

“Do you see?” Chuck asked.

“Yeah, I think so.” He executed a practice swing. “Like that?”

Chuck nodded. “Much better.”

Chuck watched with a critical eye as Mike tried a few more drives. The first ball went slightly less off to the right.

“Better,” Mike said. “Lemme try a couple more.”

He whacked a couple more balls out into the field, and they got progressively closer to the middle of the the field. By the time Mike and his father got to the end of their baskets of golf balls, Mike was consistently hitting the ball so it flew straight and true.

“I’ll have you out on the golf course yet,” Chuck said, as they returned to his car.

“Hmm,” Mike said neutrally. “Maybe.”

“I know why you hate golf, you know,” Chuck said, as he started driving back towards his house.

“Oh?” Mike said. “What’s your theory?”

“You like to be good at things. Golf doesn’t come easily, but you think it should, since it’s physics and geometry. Since you didn’t turn out to be a natural, but you should have been, you got mad at the game.”

Mike rolled his eyes, but laughed. “Okay, that was pretty good. In fact, you hit the nail right on the head. But you know what? I enjoyed the driving range.”

“It’s nice and predictable,” Chuck said. “Not that I think you can’t handle the unpredictable.”

“Yeah, my job has about as much unpredictability as you can get,” Mike said.

Chuck watched the road as he drove. “It sounds like it was pretty darned unpredictable a few weeks ago, when you ended up in the hospital.”

Mike cleared his throat. “I appreciated you calling, after.”

“You didn’t really sound like yourself, then, but you seem your regular self now.”

“Yeah, I was having a rotten day. A weird day.” Mike winced inwardly, knowing that his phrasing would bring on questions he didn’t want to answer.

“What was weird about it?” Chuck asked.

Mike sighed. “I’m not sure you want to know.”

“Oh,” Chuck said. He drove silently for a few hundred yards. “Is it about Johnny?”

“Yep.”

After another quarter mile, there was a parking area. Chuck pulled in, and put the car in park.

He looked at Mike, and then focused his eyes out the windshield, at an imaginary point in the distance.

“When your mother came back from visiting you, after your accident, I felt … left out. But then I realized I’d done it to myself. Then I started thinking, what if the accident had been worse? What if something truly terrible had happened to you? Of course I would have been there, at your side, with your mother. But that made me think even more,” Chuck said.

Mike sensed that any words from him might make things harder for his father, so he just waited.

“I started thinking, what if a terrible accident or injury was what caused us to finally get along like a father and son could? And then I knew for sure, that’s not how I want it to happen. So I guess what I’m trying to say is, tell me. I want to know about your life, and I … think I’m ready to …”

Chuck cleared his throat, and looked out the driver’s side window. “I think I’m ready to try to set my prejudices aside, so we can have some kind of relationship.”

“Dad … that’s great,” Mike said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I … I don’t know what to say.”

“How about if you tell me about why that day was bad? That’s a good start.”

Mike nodded. It would be a good place to start—something that was fairly remote, and not terribly domestic.

“Okay,” he said. “Well … Johnny was back at work, but my recheck appointment with the neurologist got canceled, so I couldn’t go back yet. So I was sitting at home, by myself, while he was off working. And, I guess I kind of got worried.”

“Worried,” Chuck said, “like you did when you were a kid? When it was almost like you’d panic?”

“Yeah, exactly like that. And no, I haven’t grown out of it. It’s just … different, now that I’m an adult. But yeah, I was worried. That way. About him,” Mike said. “And when you called, I was right in the middle of … starting to panic.”

“But everything turned out okay?”

“Just fine.”

The car’s engine chugged along, its sole purpose to provide background noise and air conditioning.

“And … you’re both fine, now, right?” Chuck asked.

“Yeah. It’s been weeks and weeks. We’re both fine.”

“What happened to him?” Chuck asked. “I know your mother told me, when she got back, but … I guess I wasn’t listening. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, Dad. He had smoke inhalation, from sharing his air with a guy while he was getting him out of a fire. He was pretty sick. There was a lot of toxic stuff in the smoke.”

“I guess so,” Chuck said. “I hadn’t really thought about that. Everything’s made out of plastic and polyester these days, and I imagine from how that stuff smells when it burns, it can’t be good for you.”

“It’s terrible for you,” Mike said. “Even just plain wood smoke is terrible for you, but structure fires are never just plain wood smoke. Especially these days. But anyhow—he was really sick. It was a couple days before he could talk much without gagging, and something in the smoke made him really nauseous for the first couple days as well.”

“That sounds awful,” Chuck said.

“It was a weird couple of days,” Mike said. “Especially at the beginning. The concussion kind of gave me verbal diarrhea, and Johnny couldn’t talk, so everything was out of whack. But by the time Mom came, we were a lot better.”

“She said she really liked Johnny,” Chuck said. “And that if I could ever get my head out of my ass—yes, your mother actually said those words—that I would like him, too.”

“I think you would, Dad.”

Chuck glanced at the dashboard clock. “We better start moving again, or we’ll be late for dinner,” he said, as he shifted into drive. “But tell me about him, while we’re driving.”

And Mike did. He talked, and talked, carefully staying away from anything he thought might make his father uncomfortable. Almost half an hour later the car pulled into his parents’ garage. Chuck turned the engine off, but didn’t move to get out of the car yet.

“Do you think …” Chuck began, and then stopped.

“Ask, Dad. Whatever you want,” Mike said. “I really want things to work out, okay?”

“So do I, son,” Chuck said. He cleared his throat, and continued. “Do you think he’d be willing to meet me?”

Mike smiled. “He sure would, Dad. And I’d love for you to meet him.”

“Good. Uh, when should we … do that?”

“Well, we’ve got four days off in a little while. We were gonna go fishing. Maybe you’d like to come along with us? No pressure,” Mike said.

Chuck nodded. “That sounds … good. I’m pretty sure I’m too old for camping out, though. But I could go for one day of fishing, and then let you two boys be.”

“We’d love it if you came, for as long as you wanted,” Mike said.

“You’re sure Johnny will be okay with this?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. Actually, I was hoping, so much, that I would be able to ask you to come with us, that I discussed it with him beforehand. So he’s definitely fine with it.”

“Good,” Chuck said. He looked over at Mike. “We did all right today, didn’t we.”

“We did great, Dad.”

**TBC**


	44. Assumptions

**Chapter 44: Assumptions**

  
  


“You got it?” Mike asked, holding up one end of the tent they’d just taken down from the clothesline in his back yard.

“Yup,” Johnny said.

Together, they shook the pine needles off the now-dry fabric, and began folding it.

“So,” Johnny said, when they met in the middle. “I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. I was awfully glad to finally meet your father.”

Mike nodded, as he took the folded bundle from Johnny and set it on top of the already-folded fly. “I’ll tell you; that whole first day, when he was fishing with us, was nothing short of miraculous.”

“You looked like you were gonna explode or pass out, most of the time,” Johnny said.

“Well, like I said on the drive out there, I wasn’t totally convinced it would go well.” Mike packed the fly and the tent itself into the storage bag, and added the poles and stakes. “I thought things could go bad any second.”

“But they didn’t,” Johnny said. “Sure, it was awkward at first, but it got better. And by the time he left, I kinda had the feeling he wished he coulda stayed.”

“Well, we’ll just have to do it again sometime,” Mike said. “And okay—I think we’re officially cleaned up from the trip. I really wish we didn’t have to work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, me too,” Johnny said. He yawned and stretched. “I sure won’t have any trouble sleeping tonight, though.”

“You were kind of tossing and turning last night—what was that about, anyhow?”

Johnny shrugged. “I dunno. Just wasn’t tired. I sure am, now, though.”

“Why don’t we head to your place, then. We can have an early dinner, and get to bed on time,” Mike suggested.

“Sounds good,” Johnny said. “But man, this is like my least favorite part of the day—the schlep from one of our places to the other. I mean, we can’t even go in the same car, since we hafta show up separately.”

Mike sighed. “I know. Me too. So let’s get it over with.”

“Yep,” Johnny said. He kissed Mike quickly. “See you at my place.”

“See you there,” Mike said.

~!~!~!~

Johnny drove extra carefully, knowing he was tired. This really was his least favorite part of every day—the drive, in separate cars, from Mike’s place to his, or vice versa.

While he was driving, he thought about the time that Mike had asked him to move in with him. They both knew what the answer needed to be. Johnny had said ‘no,’ and Mike had known he would, and they both understood the reasons why.

But as he drove, Johnny’s mind kept wandering to ideas about how they could live together and not cause suspicion. Rents were going up anywhere near downtown L.A., and everyone knew it. Gas prices were exorbitant—all the guys complained about it regularly. If he and Mike both complained loudly about finances for a while, and then they ended up going in together on a new apartment, people probably wouldn’t think twice.

‘People’ being Cap and Marco, and other people who knew both of them but didn’t know about their relationship.

Heck, Johnny thought, there were other single firemen, especially ones based at stations closer to the city of L.A., who shared apartments with each other. Usually it was two guys on different shifts at the same station, though, so they wouldn’t be in each other’s way all the time. But he and Mike were never in each other’s way.

He thought about ways they could make it look like they were just sharing an apartment, and not living together. It wouldn’t be too hard, really, if they got a completely new place.

As he drove, his mind turned over various pieces of the plan, and added, and modified. By the time Johnny was plodding up the steps to his level of the apartment building, he had all the plans solidified. They could make it work—he was sure they could. It was settled—he’d ask Mike as soon as he arrived. Mike would surely say yes—he was the one who’d asked before, and they hadn’t thought about any of the details.

~!~!~!~

As Mike drove, his mind kept returning to the first day of the fishing trip, when his father had been with them. It was really amazing to see his father and Johnny carrying on a conversation. He’d made a point of leaving the two of them on their own for a little while. He’d known it wasn’t going to be like when his mother and Johnny were on their own—he knew no confidences would be exchanged, and no expressions of happiness would occur. But the mere fact that his father was willing to carry on a conversation with Johnny still nearly knocked Mike over flat every time he thought about it.

At first, he’d wished he’d had some time alone with his dad at the end of the one day he’d come for. He wanted to hear what his father thought of Johnny. But he also knew it would be really difficult for his dad to express himself on the topic. So it would keep, until the next time they talked to each other, which Mike would make sure wasn’t too long from now. He was keenly aware that his father was seventy years old, and that time wasn’t on their side.

It occurred to Mike that perhaps that fact had encouraged his father to try to change his thinking. As far as Mike knew, though, his father was in excellent health. But what if that wasn’t true?

Mike’s mental wheels began to turn. Perhaps there was something his father wasn’t telling him—a recent diagnosis of something that might cut his life short? Heart disease was always a strong possibility for someone who ate the kinds of things his parents ate. Or cancer—that could happen to anyone. Maybe the years of daily cigars had taken their toll.

By the he pulled into a visitor’s spot in front of Johnny’s building, Mike had generated a long list of things that could be wrong with his father; reasons for his sudden change of heart. He stepped heavily up the two flights of stairs to Johnny’s level of the building, and let himself into the apartment.

Johnny bounded up to him, and kissed him energetically.

Mike clutched Johnny to him, long after the greeting kiss had ended, hanging on to him for comfort. Johnny pulled himself away, though, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Mike stared dully at him, half-stunned by all the bad thoughts that had paraded through his head during the half-hour drive.

“Mikey! C’mere,” Johnny said, gesturing energetically at the sofa. “I had this idea, and you’re gonna love it. I know you will. Because, actually, it was your idea in the first place, but we didn’t really think it out at the time, and—well, just c’mere,” Johnny concluded, flopping down on the couch and patting the seat next to him.

Mike autopiloted himself to the sofa and sat down. “Johnny, I can’t—”

“Sure ya can! Just listen. Remember when your mom was here, and—”

“Johnny,” Mike said, voice rising in pitch and volume. “Not _now_ , okay? Whatever your scheme is this time, I just can’t take it right now!”

Johnny flinched. “Scheme? It’s … I … it’s not a scheme, Mike. It’s for real. I figured out how we can—”

“You’re not paying attention to a _thing_ I’ve said!”

“Well, that’s ‘cause you haven’t actually said anything!” Johnny said, almost shouting.

“Maybe that’s because I can’t get a word in edgewise!” Mike yelled.

“Wouldja just _listen_ for a minute?”

“No, _you_ listen! Do you have _any_ idea what I was thinking about on the way over here? Did I _look_ like I wanted to hear about one of your grand schemes when I walked in your front door, or did you even bother to look?”

“Uh, I …” Johnny stared at Mike. “Geez. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention, okay?”

“No, you sure weren’t!” Mike said, glaring at Johnny.

“But I had something really good to tell you, and—”

“Jesus, Johnny!” Mike shouted. “Give it a rest!”

Johnny crossed his arms over his chest. “Give it a _rest_? You don’t have _any_ idea what I was about to tell you, and you want me to give it a fucking rest?”

Mike shook his head, and stood up. “That’s it. Forget it. I’m outta here.”

And without another word, Mike strode to the front door and left, slamming the door on his way out. Johnny was left sitting on the couch, mouth open.

He had no idea what had just happened, and no idea how to fix it. He sat there mutely, his disbelieving mind firmly trapped in a mess of sludge. For once, he didn’t have a plan.

~!~!~!~

_Station 51, the next morning_.

Johnny entered the locker room at the last possible moment that would allow him to be on time, and was relieved to see it was empty. His stomach was in knots, partly from being up all night, by himself in his bed for the first time in many, many months, and partly from the copious quantity of coffee he’d already poured into himself to alleviate the effects of two consecutive nights of poor sleep. He yanked his boot lace tight, and the lace broke with the predictable bad timing shoelaces always had.

“Damn it!” he shouted, hurling the boot across the locker room, where it pelted another locker, the heel leaving a black streak on the wooden door.

“I guess this is a bad time to mention that roll call is in two minutes,” Roy said from the doorway, frowning at his partner.

“Do you have any extra laces?” Johnny asked, as he retrieved his boot from the corner.

“Yes,” Roy said calmly. He retrieved a lace from a package in a box on the shelf at the top of his locker, and handed it to Johnny. He looked him over, head to foot, and the frown didn’t leave his face.

Johnny angrily stripped the broken lace from the boot, and began working the new lace through the eyelets.

“Do you want to ta—”

“No,” Johnny said. “I _don’t_ wanna talk about it!”

“Fine,” Roy said mildly, and left the locker room.

Johnny finished lacing his boot, and stalked into the bay, looking at the floor rather than any of the other places he could have— _should_ have—looked.

“Gage,” Captain Stanley said. “Nice of you to join us.”

Johnny bit the insides of his cheeks, holding back the angry reply that tried to come, unbidden and unwelcome. He kept his eyes straight ahead, pointed in the same direction he was sure a pair of blue eyes, farther up the line, were also looking. He did his best to attend to Cap’s rundown of the day’s plans. He was unsurprised when he was assigned latrine duty; he was late, and he knew he had to get the black streak off of whoever’s locker had caught the heel of his boot anyhow.

“Dismissed,” Cap said, after what seemed like hours.

Johnny didn’t look back at the line of men; he turned on his heel and went straight back where he’d come from, to start working on cleaning the bathroom. He grabbed a rag from the utility closet, and began scrubbing away at the vicious black streak on the locker door. The locker turned out to belong to Captain Hookrader, so Johnny knew he had to get it good and clean.

The streak reminded him of the gash in his life left by his and Mike’s fight. He scrubbed and rubbed, but the streak just smeared, increasing its ugly impact on the face of Captain Hookrader’s locker, looking like a picked-at wound instead of a fresh, easily-healed injury.

“Fuck!” Johnny shouted at the streak. He pounded the locker sharply with the heel of his fist, once, twice, three times. “Damn it!”

He sat on the bench in front of the locker, hard enough that he jarred his tailbone, and felt the impact all the way up to his already-throbbing skull. He buried his head in his hands, and thought again about what asses they’d both been the previous night. Mike was right—Johnny hadn’t been paying attention. But Johnny knew he was _also_ right—Mike hadn’t explained what was wrong, and how was Johnny supposed to read his mind?

He wanted to apologize, but he was also still so angry that he knew it would come out wrong. Plus, how the hell would they get a private moment—especially one where there might be some shouting—without being obvious about it?

“Shit,” Johnny muttered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Marco chose that moment to come in to use the facilities. He looked at Johnny, who was sitting on a bench in front of the wrong bank of lockers.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Peachy,” Johnny snapped.

“All right, all right!” Marco said, retreating into the stall. “Sorry I asked! Man, between you and Stoker, this is gonna be one rough shift.”

The klaxon sounded, saving Johnny from uttering something inappropriate, and sending the engine to an alarm activation. Marco swore as he finished in the bathroom in more of a hurry than he’d wanted to. The overhead doors churned to life, and Johnny could hear the rumbling of Engine 51 get quieter as it pulled out of the station. There was a siren, and a blast on the air horn, and then the locker room was silent.

Johnny left his sanctuary, knowing he wouldn’t meet the person he most and least wanted to see at the moment. He opened the door of the utility closet, looking for something that might remove the black mark he’d left on Captain Hookrader’s locker.

“You need to talk about it, you know.”

Johnny jumped to face his partner.

“Shit, Roy; you scared the life outta me,” Johnny said.

Roy just leaned up against the corner of the squad, arms crossed, waiting.

Johnny sighed. “All right. Yes, we had a fight last night. Are you happy now?”

“Not particularly,” Roy said. “Because you look completely miserable, and Stoker looked worse.”

Johnny looked up quickly. “He looked _worse_? How so?”

Roy sighed. “Look. As soon as we have a free moment today, maybe after lunch, you two need to go sit on the hood of the Rover, like you do sometimes.”

Johnny scowled. “When you have a fight with Joanne—a really bad one, where someone storms out of the house—do you make up sitting on the hood of a car, in a parking lot? Carefully sitting far enough apart that you don’t touch, hands in your laps?”

Roy looked at the floor.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. So unless some kind of miracle occurs, we’re gonna hafta stick it out until tomorrow morning, and hash it out at my place, afterwards. If he even wants to,” Johnny said, his voice suddenly small.

“Why wouldn’t he want to? I mean, you can’t have had a fight bad enough that you’d just … break up, can you?” Roy said, frowning and rubbing at an invisible ding on the squad.

Johnny’s face drained of blood. “I … I don’t think so. Roy, is that how he looked? Like we were … done?”

Roy shook his head. “I can’t interpret his facial expressions for you, Johnny. You need to talk to him, okay?”

Johnny slapped the cinderblock wall so hard it echoed in the bay. “How? When? Where? We can’t exactly just … ask Cap if we can borrow his office, or put a “Do Not Disturb” sign up on the dorm door, now, can we?”

Roy sighed, and didn’t reply for a moment. “Okay—I know the Rover’s hood isn’t the ideal venue, but it’s all you’ve got for now. I really think you need to talk as soon as they get back. I know how your mind works, and you’re just gonna make things seem worse and worse until you actually talk to him. And I suspect from what I know about Mike that he’s in even worse shape in that respect.”

“You got that right,” Johnny muttered. “But yeah, okay. I see your point. Maybe I can finish up with the latrines before they get back, but I doubt it. I guess … I guess I’ll see if I can get his attention to go out to the parking lot after they’re done with this run.”

“Good. And seriously, I’m happy to listen, if you want to talk, okay?”

Johnny nodded, barely moving his head. “Yeah. Thanks. Sorry I’m such an asshole today.”

“No problem—I mean, you’ve put up with me enough times when Joanne and I have had a fight,” Roy said.

“True,” Johnny said. “Anyhow.” He cleared his throat. “I kind of threw my boot, and it kind of left this black mark on Cap’n Hook’s locker. Any ideas what might get rid of that?”

“Yep,” Roy said. He ducked into Cap’s office, and returned with a large pink eraser. “Try this.”

“An eraser?”

“Try it,” Roy said.

“O … kay,” Johnny said, taking the pink parallelogram from his partner. “I guess I’ll take any advice I can get at this point.”

Johnny went back into the locker room, and tried the eraser. It worked like magic—little plasticky bits of pink rubber, tinged with black, showered to the floor. Within minutes, there was no trace of the black mark his boot heel had made when it hit the locker.

“Well, at least _that_ was easy,” Johnny muttered. He sat on the bench again, and remained there until he heard the overhead door opening out in the bay. When the engine stopped running, he went out to the bay, with a mixture of dread and hope.

He caught Mike’s eye, just as Mike was getting out of the engine, and gestured subtly to the door to the parking lot. Mike nodded, ever so slightly, and started towards the door. Just as he reached it, the station’s klaxon sounded again.

Johnny sighed heavily, and got in the squad for the run they’d been assigned.

Three hours later, after several back-to-back runs, the squad returned to an empty station. Johnny checked the call log, and saw that the engine had been dispatched as part of a second-alarm assignment to a structure fire, just over an hour ago.

Johnny went into the day room, and flopped into a chair at the table, sighing heavily.

“I was _just_ about to talk to him. But _no_ , around here we can’t get a break. Not even _one_ minute, to clear the air.”

“You wanna finally tell me what happened?” Roy asked.

Johnny leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. “Roy, I’m not even sure. I’d thought of a way to … well, to solve a problem we have, and I wanted to tell him about it last night when we got to my place. And then all of a sudden we’re shouting at each other, and I don’t even know why.”

“You’ll work it out,” Roy said. “No matter how bad it seems now, tomorrow is another day.”

“I know, but we have to wait till tomorrow to actually _fix_ this!” Johnny said, slapping the table with both hands. “It’s torture, Roy! I can’t even—”

_BWAAAAAAAAAAMP, BWOOOM BWEEEEP_! As if triggered by Johnny’s outburst, the station’s paging system alerted them to a new call.

“ _Squad 51, stage with law enforcement in the area of Franklin Park, for an assault victim. Sheriff requests a non-code-R response. Franklin Park, non-code-R, for an assault victim. Time out: 1249.”_

They got into the squad, and Roy fired up the engine. “At least you won’t be bored while you’re waiting.”

~!~!~!~

_2318, that night_

Hank Stanley had gotten used to sleeping through a variety of rustling sounds, snoring, muttering, and other nocturnal sounds one could expect from five other men all sleeping in the same room. But the one thing that always grated on his nerves was the sound of someone _not_ sleeping.

“Whoever the hell is tossing and turning and punching their pillow needs to go to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk. That’s an order,” he called out.

An annoyed sound emerged from farther back in the room. Hank heard the sound of bunker pants being pulled on, and then the clump-thump of someone trying their best to walk quietly in heavy rubber boots. He sighed, and listened to the relative quiet for a minute or two, and was almost asleep when he heard the same sounds, coming from the bunk across from his—Stoker.

Hank wasn’t surprised Mike was still awake—he’d been in an uncharacteristically foul mood for much of the day, and had retreated into the shell that Hank had been glad to see him finally emerging from over the last few months.

He was concerned, though, that Gage—who he assumed was the tosser and turner—and Stoker, who had become very good friends while Gage was recovering from his leg injury the previous fall, were having some kind of feud, because they hadn’t spoken all day. In fact, when everyone first came in that morning, Hank thought they were actively avoiding each other. Then at dinner, when the entire crew was briefly at the station all at once, Mike had poked at his food, pushing it around on his plate like a five-year-old. Gage had done the opposite, shoveling food into his pie-hole like there was never going to be any more, and immediately excusing himself from the table to complete some task he’d engineered for himself—something having to do with the drug box and B shift.

Hank didn’t think either one of them would be stupid enough to start some kind of fight at the station, but if they didn’t return to their respective bunks soon, Hank felt like he would need to have a look in the day room to see what was going on. He didn’t have to work hard to stay awake. The idea that there might be a serious conflict developing between two of his firefighters bothered him more than he thought it should, given the vagueness of Stoker’s and Gage’s apparent conflict.

Hank did his best not to toss and turn and punch his own pillow. When the eerily glowing hands of the clock on the desk told him that he’d waited ten minutes, he stepped into his boots and pants as quietly as possible, and went out to the day room.

Which was empty.

“Huh.”

Hank’s stomach sank as he realized that the parking lot would be a much more appropriate venue for a fight—verbal or otherwise—than the day room. He didn’t want to look to see what was going on, because chances were it was nothing, and none of his business. But the reality was that it was his job, since both Gage’s and Stoker’s behavior had gotten in the way of their work earlier in the day, and if there was something bad going on, he had to nip it in the bud.

Hank steeled himself, and went out to the apparatus bay. He peered through the small pane of glass in the door to the parking lot.

Gage and Stoker were standing practically toe to toe, near the picnic table. Hank couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their conversation was heated, to be sure. Gage was gesticulating wildly, and clearly doing most of the talking, while Stoker was standing there with his hands clenched into fists at his sides, appearing to occasionally get a word in edgewise.

Hank didn’t like the clenched fists. It looked like Mike was trying to restrain himself from violence, which was unlike him. Hank watched as Stoker finally seemed to have his turn to talk, but decided not to make his presence known unless or until there were any more signs of aggression.

He looked on as Mike talked, and talked. At one point it looked like Gage tried to interrupt him, but Mike held up a hand and kept going. Hank could hear snatches of what he was saying as his voice got louder.

“ … you didn’t even _notice_ …”

“ … could’ve _asked_ me …”

Mike finally stopped his tirade, arms coming back to his sides, and Johnny started in.

“ … wanna know what my _scheme_ was, or …”

Hank got nervous again when it looked like the two of them were just standing there, neither one of them saying anything, until Mike nodded, and Johnny spoke again. Stoker’s hands were fists at his sides again. Hank’s hand flew to the doorknob when Johnny suddenly reached towards Mike, and Mike’s fisted hands flew up and … he grabbed Johnny by the face and kissed him.

_What?_

Heart pounding, Hank tried desperately not to stare at the sight he was certainly not meant to see, as Mike’s hands combed through Johnny’s hair.

_He needs a haircut_ , Hank thought, his befuddled mind finding refuge in the familiar, but failing at not watching as the kiss he shouldn’t have been seeing went on and on. He finally realized he needed to back away from the situation when his hand cramped as he held onto the doorknob far too tightly.

Hank pried his fingers off the doorknob and moved silently out of the day room, across the bay, and back through the locker room into the dorm. He shrugged his suspenders off his shoulders, and let his bunker pants pool around his boots. He sat on the edge of the bed, then recalled that he was supposed to be sleeping. Even though sleep certainly wouldn’t be happening any time soon, it wouldn’t do for Gage or Stoker to creep back into the dorm and find him sitting there in shock. He swung his legs into the bed, not bothering with his usual cursing of the shortness of the bunk, and lay there with his back to the door.

His mind reeled as things started to fall into place. Mystery girlfriends? Check. Gage’s near-panicked behavior when Mike was down? Yep, it made sense. Transfer request? Uh huh. He bit back a laugh that he knew would’ve been hysterical in tone when he realized that he’d probably been dealing with a lovers’ spat all day, and not just two cranky firemen. And the scene he’d just witnessed was certainly the beginning of the explanations, apologies, and making up. Though it did seem like Gage was doing most of the explaining, or possibly most of the apologizing. Or at least it did, until Stoker _kissed_ him, for pity’s sake.

_I guess Stoker’s figured out how to shut him up_ , Hank thought, and covered the sound of an unbalanced cackle with a fake cough.

Hank still wasn’t asleep five minutes later when the first pair of boots—Gage’s—treaded quietly into the room. He was wide awake five minutes after that when Stoker returned, and the springs of the mattress in his bunk creaked as he got into bed. At 0138, he was still thinking about what he’d seen, when the tones dropped, sending the squad to a medical call just around the corner from the station. Forty-five minutes later, when the squad returned, and Gage and DeSoto came back to the room, Hank had come to a decision. Even so, sleep eluded him, and he found he was the one tossing and turning, even after everyone else was sound asleep.

~!~!~!~

_0743, the next morning._

Mike backed the engine into the bay, carefully watching both side mirrors. Before he’d finished recording the log entry in the notebook where the engineers kept track of engine hours and pump hours, Marco was unspooling the reel line mounted to the wall of the apparatus bay, hosing the mud off the vehicle.

Captain Stanley left his coat and helmet on the officer’s seat in the engine, and went into the day room to follow through on the decision he’d made in the wee hours of the morning. Mike followed him in, figuring he’d check out the coffee situation while Chet and Marco washed the truck.

Johnny was there, reading the morning paper at the table and drinking a cup of coffee.

“Gage?” Hank said.

“Oh, hey, Cap,” Johnny said, looking up.

“I need to speak with you. In my office, please.”

Johnny folded his paper and set it aside. “Sure thing.”

They went into the office together, and Hank closed the door.

“Uh oh,” Johnny said, eyeing the door. “What’d I do? I had that warm milk, just like you said. Sorry ‘bout all that tossing and turning. Or—is it about Cap’n Hookrader’s locker? I was sure the mark was totally gone.”

“Hookrader’s—what? No,” Hank said, “I don’t actually want to know. But it’s not about that.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” Johnny fidgeted in his chair. “Then, uh, what’d I do?”

_Made out with my engineer in the parking lot last night, is what_ , Hank thought. “I’ve reconsidered your transfer request. If you still want that transfer you were talking about a couple months ago, I’ll grant it.”

“Oh.” Johnny stared at the Ward LaFrance calendar on the far wall of the office. “I … I’ll have to think about it. I kind of—”

Hank shook his head. “You don’t need to explain anything. Just … let me know, all right?”

Johnny nodded. “Okay. Thanks. But … why the sudden reversal? Is it about how I was acting yesterday? Because honest, Cap, that’s done. I know I was a jerk all day, but it won’t happen again.”

_Won’t it?_ Hank thought.

“Your foul mood yesterday didn’t escape anyone’s attention, but that’s not it. I just reconsidered. That’s all. So let me know, one way or the other, by the end of the month, if you can.”

Johnny nodded slowly. “Okay. Thanks, Cap. I’ll think about it.”

“You do that,” Hank said. “And, I hope that whatever was wrong today, isn’t still wrong next shift.”

“It won’t be,” Johnny said. “No matter what, it won’t be.”

~!~!~!~

_0810_

Mike paced the living room of Johnny’s apartment. When he left the station, Johnny was still in Cap’s office. He was likely getting a talking-to about his behavior the previous day. Johnny had been … louder than Mike, during the shift, before they’d finally cleared the air in the parking lot in the middle of the night.

Johnny had been mortified and furious at himself when he understood why Mike had been upset the previous evening. Mike, for his part, felt terrible when he listened to what Johnny was so excited about. They’d both instantly dropped their anger at each other, but hadn’t yet gotten to the part where they were able to forgive themselves for their own behavior.

Nor had they gotten to the part where they could discuss Johnny’s proposal, which had once been Mike’s proposal, which still seemed … impossible.

Mike heard Johnny’s distinctive footsteps coming up the stairs to the landing, and opened the door.

“Hey,” Johnny said, as he entered the apartment.

“Hey,” Mike said.

They looked at each other, neither one knowing where to start.

“So, I’m a total dick, and I’m sorry,” Johnny said.

Mike nodded. “Yeah, you are, but so am I. Sorry, and a dick.”

Johnny’s lip quirked up in the barest hint of a smile. “So we’re even. And anyhow, we said all that in the parking lot already.”

“Can’t hurt to say it again.”

“So, now what?” Johnny asked.

“Now, I think we talk about what happened the other night,” Mike said, turning towards the living room and pointing to the couch.

Johnny pulled him back, shaking his head. “Nuh uh.” He put himself right in front of Mike, and wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, and the other lower on Mike’s back, and they melted together in a kiss that said more than the brief, awkward words they’d exchanged so far that morning.

Mike’s arms were around Johnny, and his hands trailed up and down his back. He felt the tight muscles in Johnny’s back start to let go, and felt himself relaxing as well, for the first time in over thirty-six hours. They slowly parted from each other, and were able to gaze at each other serenely this time.

“You were right,” Mike said. “First things first. No matter what—I love you. And I was a total asshole for running out the other night. I’m promising you, right now, that I won’t ever, ever do that again—because that’s twice, now. But it’s not gonna happen again, okay? No matter how mad I get, I’ll … I don’t know, lock myself in the bathroom or something, but I won’t run away from you. Because that doesn’t fix anything. The opposite. It breaks shit. And … I’m not gonna do it again.”

Johnny nodded. “Okay. Good. Because that … really hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike said quietly.

“I know,” Johnny said. He pulled Mike close and kissed him again. “Let’s sit down.”

They sat together on Johnny’s worn brown sofa. Johnny took Mike’s hand, and held it between both of his as he spoke.

“I know I said this last night in the parking lot, but I’m really sorry I didn’t notice you were in a state.”

“I know,” Mike said. “And like I said last night, I promise I’ll call my father today and ask him straight up whether there’s something going on.”

“Good,” Johnny said. He took Mike’s hand, and they laced their fingers together.

“So,” Mike said. “About your idea.”

Johnny nodded. “I really, really thought a lot about how we could make it work. Shacking up.”

“I know you did. So, let’s talk about it.”

“Okay. Uh, one thing I gotta tell ya first, though. This morning, in Cap’s office? I thought he was gonna chew me out for throwing shit and being an asshole all day. But that wasn’t it,” Johnny said, frowning as he recalled the odd conversation.

“Really? ‘Cause that’s kind of what I assumed, too. I mean, I was an asshole all day yesterday too, but I was … quieter about it,” Mike said. “So what was it?”

Johnny sighed, and traced delicate patterns on the back of Mike’s hand.

“He said if I still wanted the transfer, he’d give it to me.”

Mike’s eyebrows rose. “Whoa. That’s out of the blue.”

“You’re tellin’ me! Why all of a sudden? Was I such an ass yesterday that he wants to get rid of me?”

“No way,” Mike said. “Not Cap. If he was pissed at you about yesterday, you’d know it. But I don’t have any ideas, though, about why he’d change his mind like that.”

“I sure don’t, either. And ya know what?” Johnny asked.

“You don’t want to take him up on it.”

“Got it in one, babe. I kinda think we’re doin’ pretty good.”

Silence hung in the air between them, so Mike broke it.

“But?” he asked, knowing Johnny had more to say.

“But, staying on the same crew makes it harder to shack up,” Johnny said.

“True.”

Johnny looked at Mike, then looked away again, still holding onto his hand.

“What do you think? You didn’t say, actually. I mean, about me taking the transfer,” Johnny said, finally.

Mike sighed, and looked at the floor.

“This whole thing, it’s just so … complicated. Not working together would make living together and not getting caught easier. But it would make other things harder. It feels like we’re really making it work, right now, with everything the way it is. So I’m … reluctant to change anything. But—I never listened to what you had to say about the whole moving in together thing. So let’s talk about that, first. And assume we’re still gonna be working together for the next while. At least, until I get promoted. Which could be in a year, and could be never.”

Johnny nodded. “Okay. I agree, that we’re making things work right now. Except, um, for the other night. But here’s what I was thinking about living together. And this would only make sense, actually, if we were still on the same shift.”

“All right—lay it on me,” Mike said.

Johnny cleared his throat. “So, this complex has everything from one to four bedroom places. The management is pretty good, and we already know that you can’t hear your neighbors, which is a real problem in some places. I know for a fact that there are two-bedroom places emptying out soon. So what I was thinking, was, we could get one of those. You could rent your place out, and probably get way more for it than half the rent of the new place plus your taxes.”

Mike nodded slowly. “I could. I’d want to find the right people—tenants who’d take care of the place and everything. But … I’m sure I’d be able to get pretty good rent. It might take me a while to find the right renters, though.”

“Well, that would give us time for another part of the plan—complaining at work about finances, driving, taxes, et cetera, et cetera. I’ll complain about my rent, too, and then people won’t be surprised when we go in together on a place. Which is kind of less suspicious than one of us suddenly moving in with the other,” Johnny said.

Mike rubbed his thumb along the palm of Johnny’s hand as he thought. Johnny didn’t press him; didn’t try to make him think faster.

After a few solid minutes, Mike looked up again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Let’s do it. It’ll take a couple months for everything to work right, but let’s get started.”

Johnny’s crooked smile lit up the room. “Well, all right then!”

They grinned at each other like a couple of idiots.

“So, now what?” Johnny said.

“First, we go back to your nice, soundproof bedroom, and make love until we pass out,” Mike said, face completely straight. “Then we nap. Then I call my mom, and see if I can figure out if there’s some ulterior motive in why my dad has been so nice. Then … we’ll see.”

“I like your plan,” Johnny said. “I think we oughta get started, as soon as possible. Can’t decide if it’s gonna be make-up sex, or celebration sex.”

“Well, like I said. Till we pass out. I think we can work them both in.”

**TBC**

A/N: Edited 3/6/2013 to fix some boo boos!


	45. Moving Out, Moving In

**Chapter 45: Moving Out, Moving In**

  
  


_Two weeks later: Station 51, lunchtime._

“Hey, Marco, pass the corn, will ya?” Johnny said.

Marco slid the dish of corn across the table, and Johnny caught it and added some to his taco. 

“Perfect,” Johnny said. 

“Hey, did you guys see how much gas is up to today?” Chet said, while filling another taco shell. “Unbelievable.”

Johnny and Mike caught each other’s eyes briefly, appreciating the unexpected opening for the conversation topic they’d been planning on introducing anyhow.

“ _Everything’s_ expensive these days,” Mike said. “But yeah, the gas is really a killer. Plus it seems like even though my commute isn’t any farther, it takes longer and longer.”

“It’s a tradeoff, though. Rent is more expensive near the station than it is out in your neck of the woods, Stoker,” Johnny said. “I mean, you own your own place, but you were sayin’ a while ago that the taxes were pretty bad. Lemme tell ya somethin’: _that’s_ only gonna get worse. You oughta rent your place out, and move closer to the station, is what you oughta do.”

Mike nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it. The way rents are these days, I could rent my place out for more than enough to cover the expenses.” 

“Hey, I could ask my super if they have anything opening up soon. It’s a good complex. It ain’t the cheapest, but … well, heck. You’ve seen my place. It’s all right, ain’t it?” Johnny said.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice, actually. I could probably rent my place out,” Mike said. “But it would be pretty weird living in an apartment again after so many years in a house.”

“My whole building is cement, remember?” Johnny said. “I hardly ever hear the neighbors.”

“I’ll check with my super, too,” Marco said. 

“Thanks,” Mike said. “Because I really am seriously thinking about moving in closer to the station.”

The only person who didn’t contribute to the discussion in some way was Captain Stanley, who seemed to be trying to tune the whole thing out, as he studiously prepared and ate several tacos. 

They finished their meal, which Chet had prepared, without interruption from dispatch. Johnny was halfway through cleaning the kitchen when the tones dropped, sending the squad to a far corner of their district for an unknown medical problem at a farm.

As soon as the squad was out of the bay, Roy couldn’t help himself.

“So, that was quite the performance,” he said.

Johnny scowled at him. “I thought it sounded pretty sincere,” he said, shooting for a sullen tone of voice, but failing, as he had to shout over the sound of the siren.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it didn’t seem fake. But—am I reading this right? That you two are thinking of moving in together, and that this is part of the plan to make it look, uh …” Roy fumbled as he tried to think of a word that wouldn’t be insulting.

“Beyond reproach, Roy. Mike’s fine choice of words. That’s what you’re lookin’ for. And yeah, that’s the plan. We’re shacking up. If he was a girl I’d’a put a ring on his finger by now, but that ain’t happening, so we’re gonna just hafta to do what we can do.”

Roy nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“And it totally sucks, Roy, that we have to jump through all these hoops to make it look okay,” Johnny said.

“I know it does. It’s not fair. But you two have been so good at working things out, that I know you’ll be able to tackle this one.”

Johnny’s eyes widened. “You really think that?”

“What—that you’ll be able to make it look right? Of course you will. I mean, nobody questions Nuñez and Richardson,” Roy said. “They went in together on a place, what, a year ago? Nobody batted an eye.”

“That’s true, but that’s not what I meant. I meant, do you really think we’re good at working things out? I kinda thought you were … I dunno. Skeptical about the whole thing. Like us still working together, and all that.”

“I kind of was, at first,” Roy admitted. “But it’s obvious to me, now, that you’re gonna do what it takes to make things work, however they work best for you.”

Johnny looked out the window silently for a moment, and then looked back.

“Thanks, Roy. That … really makes me feel better, actually. I always feel like I’m screwing things up.”

“You’re not,” Roy said simply. “You’re still together, after how many months? In a relationship that’s more work to keep up than others.”

Johnny looked up to the corner of the squad and counted on his fingers. “Ten months. And yeah, it’s … well, you know how complicated it is for us.”

“Let me know how I can help, with you guys moving in together. Short of lying or anything like that,” Roy said. “Which I know you wouldn’t ask anyhow.”

“Next stop sign is our road—take a left. And thanks—we’ll let you know. I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Johnny said.

Roy pulled the squad into the driveway of the farmhouse, where a man was waving to them frantically.

“What took you so long?” he shouted. “Quick, inside—it’s my mother.”

“What’s happening with her?” Johnny asked, carrying the oxygen and drug box inside as Roy grabbed the rest of the equipment.

“Well, earlier, she was just really tired, and kind of, I don’t know, vague, I guess. But now I can’t wake her up! Follow me—she’s upstairs in her room.”

An elderly woman was supine on her bed, on top of all the covers. Johnny couldn’t tell from looking whether she was breathing, and couldn’t feel a radial pulse at all, so he put two fingers on her neck and felt a slow, feeble pulse at the carotid artery. With a hand on her abdomen, he could feel a slow and shallow rise, showing that she was breathing.

“We always have lunch at one—she’s very particular about it—but she wouldn’t wake up!”

“What’s her name?” Johnny asked, as Roy put oxygen on her and set up the biophone.

“Mabel. Mabel Parker.”

“Mrs. Parker?” Johnny said, near her ear. “Mabel?” When he got no response, he rubbed his knuckles on her sternum, hoping she’d at least react to a noxious stimulus, but he got nothing. 

Roy started taking vital signs, as Johnny turned to the son. 

“Sir, did she mention any other problems today, or yesterday?”

The man frowned. “Well, she did say she had a toothache that was making her whole jaw hurt, but mostly she was just tired, and couldn’t really carry on a conversation like usual. That’s when I suggested she take a nap.”

“Around what time was that?” Johnny asked.

“Eleven thirty,” the man said. He turned to look at Roy, who was applying electrodes to Mrs. Parker’s chest. “What’s that? What are you doing?”

“That red box is a phone, so we can talk to a doctor at the hospital. The stickers on her chest are electrodes, so we can send the doctor a recording of her heartbeat,” Johnny said, as he snapped the leads onto the electrodes.

“Heartbeat? It can’t be her _heart_! I mean, I know exactly what to look for in a heart attack, and she didn’t have _any_ of that stuff!” the man shouted, drowning out Roy’s report to Rampart.

“Mr. Parker, heart problems don’t always look the same in everyone,” Johnny said. “But the doctor will tell us what he thinks in just a minute.”

“This’ll be lead II,” Roy said, as he switched the biophone over to data mode. 

Johnny watched the signal on the scope’s screen, along with Roy. The heartbeat was slow, with a rate in the forties, and erratic.

“That’s slow!” the son said. “It’s too slow, isn’t it?”

“It’s slow, and irregular,” Johnny said. “But we’re gonna take good care of her, and do just what the doctor says, and get her right to the hospital, okay? The ambulance should be here any second—it’d be a big help, actually, if you directed them in here.” He started preparing an IV kit, anticipating Rampart’s orders.

“Oh—okay, I’ll do that,” the man said, and ran down the stairs. 

As Roy communicated with Rampart, Johnny listened in, and started the IV as soon as it was ordered. He added the ordered drugs through the IV port, and checked the woman’s vitals again as soon as the drugs were on board. 

There were small improvements in heart rate and blood pressure, but not enough. Johnny heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the commotion of the ambulance crew arriving and carrying the gurney upstairs. 

“The sooner she’s at Rampart, the better,” Johnny said to Roy, just loudly enough to be heard, but quietly enough that the son wouldn’t overhear.

“I hear ya,” Roy said under his breath, as the son returned, the Mayfair attendants hot on his heels.

They bundled the tiny woman onto the gurney, and Roy descended the stairs first, spotting the guy from Mayfair who was carrying the foot of the gurney and facing backwards on the stairs. 

“Two more steps,” Roy said. “One … and you’re down.” 

Roy joined the patient in the back of the ambulance, leaving Johnny with the son and the squad.

“Where are they taking her? What hospital?”

“Rampart, to the emergency room. Do you know where that is?” Johnny asked, as he loaded equipment back into the compartments on the squad.

“Yeah … uh … yeah. I … I guess I oughta get going,” the man said, though he didn’t make any move to leave.

“You okay?” Johnny asked, once he’d closed the final compartment. He was ready for an onslaught of anger from the man, or perhaps complaints, but they didn’t come.

“Uh … maybe. Thanks for taking care of my mom.”

“You’re welcome,” Johnny said. He swung himself into the driver’s seat of the squad, ready to depart, but the man still stood there, so he waited.

“I should’ve known,” the son said.

Johnny tilted his head. “Should’ve known what?”

“That it was her heart. Right? That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

Johnny nodded. “It looks that way. But heart problems in older women, especially, often look nothing like what they talk about on TV. You know, chest pain, pain shooting down your arm, that sorta thing—I mean, sure, that’s what it sometimes looks like, but not always. There’s no reason you should’ve known what was going on.”

The man looked skeptical. “I guess not, now that you put it that way.”

“You did exactly the right thing—calling us as soon as you couldn’t wake her up. There was no way—no way—you could’ve known she wasn’t just tired, okay?”

The woman’s son nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, you oughta get to the hospital,” Johnny said.

“On my way,” the man said, turning swiftly towards where his car was parked.

~!~!~!~

On the drive to Rampart, Johnny had some time to think. Maybe he and Mike overdid it at lunch. Marco had offered to check with his landlord about units opening up, which implied that he’d taken the conversation seriously. But in any case, Johnny was feeling slightly guilty about the sham conversation, since its sole purpose was to set the stage for him and Mike getting a place together. 

The more he thought about it, the sillier the conversation seemed, since it was just Cap and Marco who didn’t know about him and Mike. He made an annoyed sound, even though nobody else was there to hear it, and vowed to discuss with Mike whether they should continue to actively try to make things look “beyond reproach,” or just trust that they wouldn’t blow it in some way.

Roy was having coffee in the staff lounge at Rampart when Johnny arrived after restocking the squad’s drug box.

“Hey, partner—you ready to be available, or do you need a quick break?” Roy asked.

“Nah, I’m good,” Johnny said. It was a reasonable question, since they could never be sure when they would have access to a bathroom. “I mean, I’m not really in the _mood_ to call in as available, but I don’t have a good reason not to.”

Roy called in to dispatch on the HT, and they went back out to the squad. 

“You know,” Roy said, as he turned out of Rampart’s parking lot onto the road, “if Mike is seriously gonna rent his house out, I might know just the people he’d be looking for.”

“No kidding?” Johnny said. “Who’s that?”

“A friend of Joanne’s and her husband are about to have a baby, so they’re looking for a two-bedroom place, and they really want to be in a house. If Mike’s serious, I’ll ask them if they’d be interested in that neighborhood, and give them his number.”

“Yeah? That’d be great—but you oughta ask Mike,” Johnny said. “I mean, we’ve definitely decided to do it, but you should talk to him.”

“I will, then,” Roy said. 

~!~!~!~

_One week later_

Mike was washing dishes in his kitchen, after he and Johnny had finished eating the dinner Johnny had prepared. Just as he was elbow deep in sudsy dishwater, the phone rang. He swore as he tried to rinse and dry his hands in time to get to the phone, which Johnny handed him right after the sixth ring.

“Hello?” he said, wiping his hands on the towel.

“ _Mr. Stoker? This is Jeannie Rockwell—my husband and I looked at your house yesterday afternoon?_ ”

“Of course,” Mike said. “How are you?”

“ _I’m fine, thanks. I’m calling to say that if you haven’t rented the house out yet, we’re definitely interested_.”

“Terrific! Is a lease starting at noon on the fifteenth of next month still okay, like we talked about yesterday?”

The woman laughed. “ _Yes, I’m pretty sure I can keep this kid in for three more weeks. I hope._ ”

“Uh, that’s not what I meant,” Mike said nervously. “I mean … I just meant—”

“ _No, it’s fine!_ ” Mrs. Rockwell said, laughing again. “ _I’m just a little fixated on that whole aspect of things at the moment, I think. But seriously: we’re definitely interested, and we can come by any time with a check, because we don’t want to miss this boat. Your house is perfect for us.”_

“Thanks,” Mike said. “I’ll be glad to rent it to you.”

They made arrangements for Mike to stop by the following evening, and hung up.

“Was that what it sounded like?” Johnny asked.

Mike grinned back at him. “Yep. Roy’s friends want to rent the place.”

“Well, awright!” Johnny said, and grabbed Mike in a hug that lifted him off the floor. They kissed each other, until Mike pulled away.

Johnny loosened his embrace, and looked at Mike, who had developed a downcast expression. “Uh uh, Mikey. None of that. We can sign the lease with my super tomorrow, and we’ll get a U-haul reserved, and it’s gonna be fine. Remember?”

Mike sighed, and leaned his head on Johnny’s shoulder. “Yeah. I know.”

“It’s gonna be _great,”_ Johnny said, tightening his arms around Mike.

“It is,” Mike said into Johnny’s neck. “I know it is.”

They stayed there together for a moment, until Johnny pulled away.

“Okay—forget the dishes. We’re going out for a beer. Now.”

Mike laughed. “Okay, all right. You’re right—this is cause for celebration. Because we’re really doing it.”

“We’re really doing it,” Johnny repeated. “And we have tomorrow off, and we can get everything all lined up, and it’s gonna be great.”

Mike pulled Johnny back close to him again, and kissed him. “It really is.”

Johnny kissed him back. “Yep.”

Mike leaned Johnny back against the fridge, and nuzzled his neck. “Really, really great.”

Johnny chuckled, and let his hands travel up Mike’s back. He stroked up the back of Mike’s neck, and had one hand in Mike’s hair as Mike’s lips traveled down his neck to the triangle of skin framed by the open neck of his shirt. “Mmmm, great, for sure,” he said, as he pulled Mike closer, one hand on the back of his head, and one at the small of his back.

“Your neck is great,” Mike said, as his lips worked their way up the side opposite where he’d started.

Johnny’s lower hand moved downwards, over Mike’s back pocket, and lower.

“Your ass is great,” Johnny said, moving his other hand down as well.

Mike’s open lips dragged across Johnny’s jawline, and he nibbled Johnny’s lower lip. Johnny parted his lips, and Mike took the invitation for what it was. The refrigerator thunked against the wall as Mike leaned his weight onto Johnny’s body.

“Can’t … break … the tenants’ … fridge,” Johnny said, as he pushed himself up against Mike, nudging one of his thighs between Mike’s.

Mike growled into their kiss, and once again the fridge lifted off its front casters. Something thudded inside the freezer compartment.

“Fuck the fridge,” Mike said, nipping at Johnny’s earlobe, then pulling back just enough to start quickly undoing Johnny’s buttons. 

Johnny slid his hands under Mike’s t-shirt, and caressed the skin he found, letting his hands trail up and down the cords of taut muscle on either side of Mike’s spine. He let go only to allow his shirt to be shucked off his shoulders, but then snatched at the bottom of Mike’s shirt and hauled it over Mike’s head. Nobody noticed that it landed in the dishwasher, as Mike did the same with Johnny’s white V-neck undershirt, which ended up on top of the listing refrigerator. 

Johnny groaned as Mike’s teeth scraped a nipple. “Not th’ fridge,” he said, unbuckling Mike’s belt and starting on the buttons of his fly.

“Okay,” Mike said, switching to the other nipple. “You, then.”

“Tha’s what I meant,” Johnny said, arching his torso up to Mike’s mouth.

Mike pressed Johnny against the fridge one last time, then allowed himself to be steered towards the bedroom. They stopped in the hallway so Mike could step out of his jeans, which Johnny had unbuttoned in record time. 

Mike slammed the door of the bedroom shut, and peeled Johnny’s jeans off him as quickly as he could, taking the boxers along with the denim. Johnny yanked Mike’s shorts down, and moved him towards the bed.

“Socks,” Mike said, and Johnny laughed as they both did the awkward sock-removal dance. 

“You an’ your no-socks-in-bed rule,” Johnny said, catching Mike as he nearly toppled over. “We better never live anywhere cold.”

“No chance,” Mike said, as he hauled the covers off the bed.

Johnny caught Mike from behind, letting his rapidly hardening cock prod Mike’s backside, sliding under the cleft of Mike’s ass to nestle between his parted thighs. Mike let out a groan as Johnny tweaked both his nipples at the same time.

Still standing, Johnny rocked up against Mike, and nuzzled the shell of Mike’s ear. 

“’s gonna be so great,” he said.

Mike leaned his head back, and reached his arms up and around behind Johnny’s head. Johnny nibbled the biceps muscle displayed to him, and ran his hands up and down Mike’s chest and abdomen, and as far down the fronts of his thighs as his hands would reach.

“Mmm,” Mike responded. “It’s already pretty great.”

“ _This,_ right here, is great,” Johnny said, finally taking Mike’s cock in hand, and giving it a few gentle warm-up strokes.

Mike leaned his head back against Johnny’s shoulder, relaxing into his lover’s body. He was torn between just enjoying the feelings, and his increasing desire to be face to face with his partner. The decision was made for him, when Johnny slid his hands up to Mike’s waist and gently spun him around. 

Their eyes met, and they smiled at each other, and kissed. The heat between them built, with lips and hands starting spot-fires everywhere they landed. Those small fires fed the flames of the center of the main fire, driving it to grow. 

Mike steered Johnny towards the bed. Johnny pulled a container of lube from the nightstand drawer before toppling onto the bed, pulling Mike down with him. They dropped and rolled, not to smother the flames devouring them, but to stoke them, spurring each other on. 

Johnny flipped Mike onto his back, and began covering him with nips and kisses, working his way downwards, and finally engulfing Mike’s cock in the most intimate of kisses. He enjoyed hearing Mike’s reactions, and got lost in what he was doing, until Mike spoke up.

“Ngggh … Johnny … waitasec …”

Johnny popped his head up, and looked inquiringly at Mike, who was trying to regain control of his voice. “You okay?” he asked.

Mike replied by pulling Johnny up towards him, and kissing him, groaning into the kiss as the taste of Johnny’s mouth reminded him of what he’d just interrupted. He rolled them over, so he was above Johnny. 

“I just,” Mike began, alternating words with kisses, “really … really … wanna … fuck you, and that ain’t gonna happen if you keep that up,” he said, finishing in a rush.

Johnny chuckled. “Weeeell, I’m not gonna argue with that,” he said, reaching double-jointedly over his shoulder, and fumbling his hand around on the nightstand. He set the lube down next to them. “Do your magic, Stoker.” He rolled over beneath Mike’s loose straddle hold, and raised his ass, shifting his weight around on his elbows so he brushed his body all over Mike’s. Mike laid his hands on Johnny’s ass, but Johnny kept moving, not letting Mike’s hands get a purchase.

“Are you teasing me?” Mike asked, sliding his hands up and taking Johnny by the hips. “Because I think you’re teasing me.”

“Who, me?” Johnny said, continuing to supply Mike with a moving target. “You’d think I’d know better.”

“You’d think,” Mike said, allowing Johnny’s flirtatious teasing to continue a while longer. He moved his hands back to Johnny’s ass, and let them brush lightly over the firm buttocks presented to him. “Hold still,” he ordered, finally, inviting Johnny to participate in a game they’d started early on in their relationship.

“Make me,” Johnny said.

Mike chuckled low in his throat. He leaned over Johnny, not yet putting his weight to work. He put his hands behind Johnny’s elbows, which were holding him up, and pushed forwards. Johnny yelped as he was suddenly prone, with his arms stretched out in front of him and his body pinned to the bed by Mike’s weight.

“My buck ninety tops your buck sixty, babe,” Mike said. 

“Your buck ninety can top me any time,” Johnny panted, as Mike used his knee to slide one of Johnny’s thighs away from the other, while still keeping most of his weight on Johnny. He slid a hand between them, to grab the ass cheek on the other side from the leg he’d just moved, and pulled the cheek aside, letting his cock slide between the cheeks, teasing at Johnny’s tight asshole.

Johnny groaned into the mattress.

“You’d like it if I just pushed in right now, wouldn’t you?” Mike whispered, leaning forward to talk right into Johnny’s ear. “No prep, maybe spit for lube.” 

Johnny answered with a sound that was half moan, half whimper, and pulled his bent leg farther up towards his body, inviting Mike to do what he’d mentioned.

Mike chuckled again, and let his teeth briefly take purchase on the back of Johnny’s neck.

“Sorry, babe, but you know the rules. No damage allowed. But we can compromise,” Mike said, opening the lube one-handed and squeezing some out onto his fingers. He reached in between them, and slid his slippery fingers between Johnny’s cheeks, reaching his own cock at the same time. He slid his cock up and down between Johnny’s cheeks a few times, teasing both of them, until he realized he was turning himself on too much. He pulled his body away from Johnny’s, keeping a hand on the small of Johnny’s back to remind him not to move. 

It didn’t work—Johnny pushed himself back up on his forearms, ass in the air. Mike didn’t complain, because the change in position gave him more room to work on his short-term goal of prepping Johnny just enough to be safe, which took less than a minute. He slapped Johnny’s ass lightly.

“Roll over, babe.”

Johnny complied, and Mike reached forward for the lube again, slathering some on his cock. He took Johnny’s cock in his still-slick hand, using the extra lube to stroke him a few times, and then let his thumb rub over the extra-sensitive spot on the underside, just where the head met the shaft. Johnny thrust up into his hand, and hooked a leg over Mike’s shoulder, making it clear what he wanted without saying a word.

Mike lined himself up, and pushed in, eyes locked with Johnny’s. Johnny gasped and clutched at whatever was handy, which turned out to be Mike’s forearm on one side, and the sheets on the other. Mike pulled out most of the way, and pushed in again, watching Johnny’s eyes roll back into his head as he groaned loudly enough that Mike was glad the walls were solid cement. 

Mike set a leisurely rhythm, fisting Johnny’s cock in time with his movements. Johnny put a hand around the back of Mike’s neck, and pulled him down. They kissed hotly, mouths echoing what their bodies had just been doing, until this time, Mike couldn’t help himself, and pushed himself up again to resume his rhythm of thrusts. He took Johnny by the hips and maneuvered him to adjust the angle, and Johnny wrapped his legs around the backs of Mike’s thighs.

They settled back into an easy rhythm, hands traveling over each other’s bodies, pausing to adjust their positions, or to kiss more. After their last adjustment, they ended up half on their sides, in a position where Johnny’s flexibility allowed penetration and kissing at the same time. As Mike felt the tension ramping up in Johnny’s body, he increased the pace of his thrusts, his hand following the same rhythm on Johnny’s cock.

Their sounds mingled on every thrust, until Johnny’s body tensed up and froze. He shot semen over Mike’s hand, and the pulsing of his muscles sent Mike over the cliff, to land in Johnny’s arms. 

They lay there panting, Mike’s fingers making tracks in the sheen of sweat that covered his lover’s smooth caramel skin. 

“How ‘bout that beer we were gonna go out for?” Johnny said languidly. “We can still go, right? Plen’y of time.”

Mike laughed. “Not with you looking like _that_ , we can’t.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve just been fucked into next week.”

“Well, I have, haven’t I? B’sides, you should see _yourself_ right about now, Stoker.”

“Mmm,” Mike replied. He snuggled into Johnny’s side, burying his face in his neck. “How ‘bout a quick shower, and then we can mosey on over to Kilpatrick’s for that beer.”

“Sounds good.”

~!~!~!~

_Three weeks later, 7:55 a.m._

Mike stood in his living room, in the house he’d lived in for seven years, taking one last look around. Boxes, labeled with the names of the rooms they’d go to in the new apartment, were stacked all over the room. The house smelled of paint, as Mike had insisted on painting the main area of the house for the tenants. 

The smell of the paint took him back to the last time he’d painted, about six months after his ex had moved out. Every time he thought of that moment, when he’d finally let go of that dysfunctional relationship completely, he thanked his lucky stars that his minor breakdown after Johnny’s injury in the gas explosion had led him, albeit kicking and screaming, to Dr. Pritchard’s office. 

Mike was sure, absolutely certain, that he and Johnny wouldn’t have been able to make a go of it if Mike hadn’t been working with Dr. Pritchard. The insight he’d gotten into how his own mind worked, and how he could help keep himself from getting stuck on things—Mike realized those things were crucial in developing a solid relationship. 

So if he hadn’t had his mini-breakdown, he probably wouldn’t have gotten together with Johnny. 

And if Johnny hadn’t been caught in that gas explosion, which coincidentally happened exactly at the same time that Mike was charging a hose line, Mike wouldn’t have had that breakdown. Or, maybe something else would have set him off—Mike realized it was probably inevitable that something like that would have happened.

Of course, Mike thought, as he stood there staring at the pile of boxes, what it all boiled down to was that if Johnny hadn’t nearly gotten blown to high heaven, they wouldn’t have gotten together. And if Johnny’s beach-boy fling-from-the-past hadn’t come running up to them on the beach that day, they wouldn’t have learned that it was even _possible_ for them to be together.

There were so many, many coincidences, Mike realized, that had to happen in exactly the right way, to make it possible for him and Johnny to have gotten together in the first place. And now, today, they were going to move in together, which was the closest thing to getting married that they’d ever be able to experience.

They were going to move in together, helped by all their A-shift friends, half of whom knew nothing about their relationship. And they’d be there, at Mike’s house, in five minutes, to load the truck.

“Hey.”

Mike started, and turned to where Johnny was standing.

“Hey, yourself.” Mike peered out the living room window, and saw that the coast was clear. He kissed Johnny, one more time before their friends arrived.

“You okay?” Johnny asked.

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Just thinking. Thinking about how … all these different things had to happen, in very particular ways, for us to be doing what we’re doing today.”

Johnny nodded. “I was thinking the exact same thing, this morning, while you were picking up the truck. I mean, I sure didn’t enjoy that broken leg—no sir, not in the slightest—but I kinda think if that hadn’t happened … well, we probably wouldn’t be here right now. So I guess what I mean is, I’m not glad my leg got snapped in half, but … I’m gladder than I can even really understand, that we’re here right now, gettin’ ready to shack up.”

Mike swallowed back a lump in his throat. “Yeah. Me too. More than anything.”

Johnny opened his mouth to start to say something, but didn’t actually do it.

“What?” Mike couldn’t help asking.

“Uh … okay. I don’t really know the right way to say this.”

“If it’s something nice, there’s no wrong way,” Mike said.

“Okay.” Johnny cleared his throat. “You see, it’s something I told Roy a couple weeks ago.”

Mike waited patiently, while Johnny chewed his lip.

“What I said to him was, and this is the part that isn’t gonna come out right, so I’m sorry, but it’s how I feel.”

“It’s okay, babe,” Mike said. “I forgive you in advance.”

Johnny’s lips crooked up on one side. “Okay. It’s like this. If you were a girl, I’d’a put a ring on your finger by now. For sure. If you’d’ve accepted it from me. But you’re not, so that doesn’t work out that way. But I just wanted to say that.”

The lump was back in Mike’s throat, full force. “I … never thought about it that way, exactly, but I feel the same way.”

“So …” Johnny shifted back and forth on his feet. “Would you?”

Mike didn’t have to ask him what he meant. “Babe, if we could ever get married? I’d do it in a flash.”

Johnny cleared his throat. “Me too.”

“Maybe someday,” Mike said. He leaned towards Johnny to kiss him, but was stopped by a hand in the middle of his chest.

“They’re here,” Johnny said, pointing to the front walkway, where Chet and Marco were approaching, followed by Cap and Roy.

Mike looked at Johnny, with a glint of moisture in his eye. “It’ll keep.”

“Yeah. We’ve gotten good at that,” Johnny said. 

Mike opened the front door, and let their friends in.

Four firemen poured into the house, with an accompanying barrage of noise.

“Wow, Stoker—you’ve really got your shit together,” Chet proclaimed, always the first to pass some kind of judgment on any situation. “Last time I helped someone move, there were just piles of crap everywhere, and we ended up buying a bunch of trash bags to get everything onto the truck.”

“Have you ever known Mike _not_ to have his shit together, as you so eloquently put it, Kelly?” Cap said. “Men, I bet we’ll have everything in the truck in under fifteen minutes.”

“On your marks, get set—” Marco said.

“Stop!” Mike said, holding up a hand. “Just … let’s just do this, without trying to break any records, okay? We’ll get the stuff in the truck, unload into the new place, and then start carting Johnny’s stuff over from his place.”

“Spoilsport,” Johnny said, winking at Mike to take the sting out. But they both knew there wasn’t any sting to be had.

Twenty minutes later, Mike’s house was empty. Three hours after that, the newly-remodeled two-bedroom apartment, just down the outdoor corridor from Johnny’s old apartment, was full of boxes and furniture, and the six friends were eating pizza and drinking cold beers.

“All right, fellas,” Cap said, putting his empty bottle back in the case. “I’ve gotta ship out. See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the help, Cap,” Johnny said. “I’ll walk out with you—gotta take all these pizza boxes down to the dumpster.”

“Okay.”

They walked down the stairs silently, until they got near Cap’s sedan, which was parked near the blue dumpster. Johnny heaved the load of boxes over the edge, and turned to find Cap standing next to the car, keys in hand. He had an expression on his face that Johnny couldn’t quite place.

“Cap? Thanks for the help today.”

“You’re welcome.” Captain Stanley cleared his throat. “Listen, Johnny. I wanted to talk to you about something, not at the station, and not in front of the other guys. And this seems like as good a time as any. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Sure thing,” Johnny said. “What’s up? You look like you’re worried about something.”

Hank nodded his head slowly. “I suppose I am, actually. I don’t really know how to put this. So I guess I’ll just say it. I know you two didn’t want me to know, but I do. I _know_.”

Johnny felt like the world suddenly shifted a foot to the left. He put a hand on the dumpster to support himself, and immediately pulled back from the dark blue metal, which was scorching hot from baking in the sun all morning.

Hank continued. “So what I wanted to say, is, first of all, I don’t have a problem with you and Mike being together, though I have to say it knocked me for a loop when I found out. And second of all, be careful. You both know perfectly well the risks you’re taking, with your careers, by choosing to live together. Especially since you’re on the same shift. So I’m gonna keep that offer of a transfer open, for as long as you need it. Either one of you. However it works out. I’m not gonna force anything on you, because you’re grown men and I have to believe that you know what you’re doing, and that you’ve carefully thought everything out.”

Johnny finally mustered the emotional energy to speak.

“We have,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Believe me, Cap, we’ve thought about _all_ of this. And … well, you might not understand, but this is what’s right for us.”

Hank nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll do my best to watch out for you both. But if things ever … get ugly, there’s not much I can do to help. Because officially, I can’t possibly know about this.”

“I understand,” Johnny said. “We don’t mean to be putting you in an awkward position. I’ll talk to Mike again about me transferring, because it’s not fair to you that—”

“That’s not it at all,” Hank said. “It’s not about me. Like I said, officially, I don’t know a thing. But I understand, now, why you were so upset when Mike got knocked out by that flying supply line. And I don’t want either one of you to … well, to get in a state because of seeing something happening to the other guy. Because you know what our line of business is like.”

“We do,” Johnny said. “And honest, Cap, now that we’re really, really thought it through, we think it’s easier on both of us to be workin’ together, instead of always wondering what the other guy is up to on the job. I mean, Joanne says that’s the hardest thing for her—the not knowing.”

“My wife says the same thing,” Cap said. “So I suppose I can see where you’re coming from.”

They stood there, not yet able to make eye contact. Hank inspected his keys, and Johnny’s eyes were focused on the right front tire of Hank’s car.

“How’d you find out?” Johnny asked.

Hank’s bushy eyebrows climbed his forehead. “You really want to know?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Johnny said.

“Okay, then. I’ll tell you. That day, a few weeks ago, when you guys were both in the foulest mood I’d ever seen from either of you? You were … indiscreet, to put it mildly, in the parking lot.”

Johnny’s mouth went dry, as he realized what Cap must have seen. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ Pal, that can’t ever, _ever_ happen again. _Ever._ ”

“We know. It was … it was kind of an accident,” Johnny said, kicking a pebble with the toe of his sneaker. “We’re usually really, really careful about that sort of thing.”

“I realized that, later. To be honest, I only looked out into the parking lot because I thought you two might be about to duke it out, whatever ‘it’ was. I didn’t have any idea, until Stoker looked like he was about to hit you, and then … didn’t.”

“It won’t happen again,” Johnny said, this time actually looking at his boss.

“I know.” Hank looked straight back at Johnny. “Now that I’m no longer shocked out of my gourd, I can tell you I’m glad you’re happy. Both of you. Stay that way, okay? And if there’s something at work that gets in the way of that, come to me. Either of you. All right?”

Johnny nodded. “Thanks, Cap. We will. And … well, thanks for understanding.”

“I didn’t say I understood, John. I’m baffled, actually. I never would’ve thought—well. That’s beside the point, I think. But even though I don’t understand, I can still be a friend, at work and outside.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said. “And Cap? We’re really sorry we … put you in an awkward position. Nobody was really supposed to know. So thanks for not making a big deal out of this.”

“You’re welcome,” Hank said. “By the way—who _does_ know?”

Johnny sighed. “Roy, on purpose. Chet, by accident, but he’s cool with it. Dixie McCall at Rampart, also on purpose. Mike’s parents. You. That’s it.”

“Okay,” Hank said. 

“Okay,” Johnny echoed, not knowing what else to say.

Hank sighed. “Look. With the exception of that … incident in the parking lot, you guys have done a really good job of being careful. And we know that’s not going to happen again, right?”

“Right,” Johnny said, scowling. “Yeah, we do an amazing job of hiding in plain sight.” He whanged the heel of his fist against the dumpster, which rang his anger out across the parking lot. 

Hank’s expression softened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s … not fair. I never really thought about that. But it’s not fair.”

“Damned straight it’s not. No pun intended.”

“John, like I said. I’ll do everything I can, short of lying or breaking any departmental regulations, to … make things easier for you two. Come to me,” Hank reiterated, “if there’s ever a problem I can help with. Tell Mike what I said, too.”

Johnny rubbed his suddenly-aching head. “Yeah. Okay. I will. Sorry I lost my temper. It’s just … frustrating.”

“I would imagine so,” Hank said, “and I’ll say again that I’ll support you guys any way I can.”

“Thanks, Cap. Really. I wish this day could’ve been … I don’t know. A party. But it can’t. We hafta just be two working stiffs going in on a place together to save some dough,” Johnny said sourly.

Hank squeezed Johnny’s shoulder. “Frustrations aside, I’m glad you two are happy. I hope you can enjoy the rest of the day, privately.”

Johnny blinked in the bright sunlight. “Yeah. Me too. We are. We will.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and both realized at the same time that there was nothing else to be said. Not there, not in the parking lot. Maybe another time over a pint of beer, in someone’s backyard, or on a fishing trip. But not now. 

Hank clapped Johnny on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow, pal.”

“Okay.”

Johnny stood there and watched his captain drive off. He turned, and headed back up the stairs, laughing at himself when he turned right instead of left at the top of the stairs. Just as he entered his new apartment, all four men inside burst out laughing.

“What?”

“We were just about to go see if you’d somehow managed to fall into the dumpster,” Chet said, handing Johnny a beer. “Or if Cap had tossed you in for some reason.”

“No,” Johnny said absently, taking the beer, but setting it down on the table. “Nothing like that.” He sat down heavily on the couch—his couch, which was placed in an ‘L’ shape next to Mike’s couch.

Roy shot Chet a look, which didn’t escape Johnny’s attention.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys,” Roy said, standing up, “but I have things I need to get done this afternoon.”

“Me too,” Chet said, after downing the rest of his beer in one go. “C’mon, Marco. Let’s let these jokers start unpacking.”

The three friends and helpers left without ceremony, two comprehending what they were really leaving, and one not. Mike closed the door after letting them out, started picking up paper plates.

Johnny picked up the cold beer that Chet had handed him, and put it on his forehead. 

“Hang on, Stoker. Sit down for a sec, will ya?”

Mike looked at Johnny. “What’s wrong?”

“Just … I gotta tell you something, and you’re gonna wanna be seated for this. Trust me.”

“Always,” Mike said, leaving the stack of paper plates on the table, not able to locate a wastebasket at that moment. He sat down next to Johnny, and took his hand, stroking with his thumb as he always did. He waited patiently until Johnny was ready to speak.

Johnny rolled the condensation-coated bottle around on his forehead, until he decided it wasn’t going to cure his headache. He set it down on the coffee table, on a spot where there was already a ring.

“Cap knows,” he said.

“Oh,” Mike said, his hand tightening on Johnny’s. “Uh, how much trouble are we in?”

“None,” Johnny said. He gave Mike the condensed version of his chat with Captain Stanley.

Mike sighed. “I still can’t believe we did that. In the parking lot.”

“Well, we both know it won’t happen again,” Johnny said.

“It won’t happen again,” Mike said, “because there won’t be any more fights like that. Partly because there’s nowhere to run, and partly because we promised.”

They sat there quietly for a minute. Johnny took a healthy swig of the beer he’d been using as an ice-pack, and put it back down again.

“Speaking of there being nowhere to run,” he said, turning towards Mike. “We’re shacked up. For real.”

Mike’s serious face relaxed. “Yeah. We really are.”

“So … should we maybe start unpacking?” Johnny asked.

“Hm,” Mike said, standing up, and looking at a stack of boxes in the kitchen. He leaned over to the window that looked out onto the uninspiring outdoor corridor, and turned the rod to flick the blinds closed. “That’s not exactly what I was thinking. We’ve got five rooms to christen,” he said, as he flopped back down onto the couch next to Johnny.

Johnny laughed, and turned sideways on the couch, pulling Mike down with him. “That’s what I meant,” Johnny said. “I’ll unpack you, and you unpack me.”

“It’s a deal,” Mike said.

~!~!~!~

_The next day: 0800, Station 51_

“Okay, listen up, men. Anyone who watched the news this morning knows where we’re headed.”

“Brush fire in the canyon,” Chet said, nodding. “I figured.”

“C- shift is out there now, and HQ is calling up B-shift to see if they can get some coverage here. Last report I got, the fire was nearly contained, so hopefully we won’t be out there too long,” Cap said. “Everyone drink a glass of water, hit the head, and then fill your canteens. We’ll be leaving in ten minutes, so make it snappy. Who’s okay with taking a personal vehicle out there?”

Johnny raised his hand. “We can all squeeze in the Rover. It’ll be snug, but it’s been done.”

Cap nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

Half an hour later, the men were at their assignments in the canyon. Engine 51 was at its own assignment, in the middle of a supply relay, with an engineer from another station manning the pump. Captain Stanley and Mike took over for their B-shift counterparts, manning an attack line near the head of the fire. They both jumped at the chance for that assignment, as they rarely got to be on that end of a hose anymore. 

The other four men were assigned to carry five-gallon backpacks of water, with a hand-pump to pressurize the tanks and deliver the water to spot fires on the ground. The wind was behaving badly, whipping through treetops, making the bone-dry vegetation crackle even when it wasn’t burning. They went to their assigned area, which was downwind of the head of the fire, and started putting out the small fires started by embers blown across the fire line.

Johnny paired up with Roy, and Chet with Marco, as usual. They could see the other two members of their crew, about fifty yards away. The fire was creeping along a slope. The uphill portion of the slope had already burned, but Mike and Cap were charged with containing the fire from progressing any farther along the side of the slope, which was covered with scrub and a few lonely looking trees that had somehow managed to thrive in the dry soil. 

“That’s some tricky footing,” Roy said, as he watched Mike and Cap struggle with the terrain.

“Yeah, I kinda noticed that,” Johnny said tensely. He savagely worked the hand-pump that pressurized the tank on his back, and squirted a blast of water at a tiny patch of fire, stopping it in its tracks.

Roy looked over at Johnny, and saw the muscles bunched in his jaw, and the firm set of his eyebrows. 

“Sorry,” Roy said. 

“It’s all right,” Johnny said. “They’re big boys, and they know what they’re doing.”

They continued working in silence, speaking only to point out hazards. Johnny kept his attention on what he was doing, since the area he and his three colleagues were working in wasn’t free of hazards. Every minute or so, though, he let his eyes stray to the hillside to his left, where Mike and Cap were working on containing their assigned branch of the fire.

Johnny returned from refilling his 5-gallon tank for the third time, and scanned the hill to find the one skunk-striped helmet he knew would be there. He found it, and then easily found the familiar frame of the man he was actually looking for. They were approaching a large tree, which stuck up from the hillside at an improbable angle.

The wind picked up, and a collective groan rose from everyone within earshot. More wind meant more flying embers, more potential for the fire to cross the vegetation-free lines that had been bulldozed and dug to keep the fire contained, and more danger for everyone.

The grass and scrub in the area where Johnny and his crew-mates were working was bone-dry, at the height of the fire season, so every time an ember took purchase, a spot-fire flared up briefly. It was all they could do to keep up with the new crop of tiny fires that sprouted with each gust. Johnny became lost in the rhythm of find, approach, extinguish; find, approach, extinguish. 

Just as he was about to go refill for the fourth time, along with Roy, who had emptied his five gallons at the same time, a commotion on the hillside caught his attention. A shower of sparks, an eruption of smoke, and a cracking sound emanated from the tree that had torched on the hillside. Only one figure was visible—a lanky form with a white-striped helmet.

“Oh, fuck!” Johnny exclaimed, and started to shed his tank to run to Mike’s aid.

Roy grabbed his arm.

“Wait. Look.”

Captain Stanley had complete control of the hose he and Mike had been advancing, and was spraying down a branch that had fallen. Smoke turned to steam, and Cap shut off the line and dropped the hose. A second later, he’d hauled the fallen branch off his partner, and was helping him to his feet, away from the burning tree.

Johnny watched, as Cap dusted Mike off. Mike was rubbing his shoulder, but shaking his head as he said something to Cap.

Johnny tried to imagine the dialogue in his head:

“ _Stoker! You okay, pal?”_

“ _Sure, Cap. Thanks for the water—I thought for a minute I was gonna get crispy.”_

“ _How ‘bout that shoulder—you all right, or should you go get checked out?”_

“ _I’m fine. Just a little bruised.”_

“ _You sure? Because lemme tell you, pal; I wouldn’t wanna be in your shoes at home later if you should’ve gotten checked out, but didn’t.”_ That part, Johnny wasn’t sure about, but his imagination wasn’t exactly under his control.

And here was where Mike shook his head. “ _Really, Cap. I’m perfectly fine,”_ Johnny imagined. Mike filled the conversation in perfectly by making a show of waving his affected arm in a wide circle, demonstrating that he was, in fact, unscathed.

Johnny relaxed as he saw Cap clap Mike on the back, and pick up the nozzle and hand it to him. Cap backed him up as he opened the nozzle, and sent a stream of water up into the crackling canopy of the tree, whipping the end of the hose around in a circle to send a spiral of water upwards to tackle all of the flaming foliage.

Within a minute, the tree was no longer a hazard, and Mike and Cap continued their task of trying to encircle the fire, driving their piece of it back towards the already burnt black zone. 

“Johnny,” Roy said, bringing his partner back to the part of the world they were actually supposed to be dealing with.

“Yeah. Okay,” he said. “I just … I’m sorry I froze up.”

“It’s okay,” Roy said. “He’s okay.”

“Yeah.” Johnny cleared his throat. “Fucking hell, Roy.”

“I agree. Come on. Let’s do our part, here.” 

Roy helped Johnny get the arm he’d pulled out of his pack back into the straps, and they filled each other’s tanks once more. The forty pounds of water, combined with the ten-pound pack, felt heavier every time they filled up.

Several hours later, Station 51’s crew was recalled to the base camp. The wind had died down, and the helicopters had been able to make some well-placed, well-timed drops. The fire was close enough to being contained that the urban stations were being returned to quarters, to relieve the overtime crews that were stationed there in their place.

Mike and Chet stayed behind to get the engine back in service, after removing it from the no-longer-needed supply relay. They topped off the booster tank, repacked the supply lines, and began the twenty-minute drive back to the station.

“Looked like you had quite a close call up there this morning,” Chet remarked, after they got onto a paved road and could actually converse.

“Mm,” Mike said noncommittally. “I guess so. I’ll admit it—I did kind of get stunned by that branch falling on me. And it’s a good thing Cap moved fast, because between you and me, it’s pretty hot under a flaming branch.”

“I bet,” Chet said.

They drove silently, and Chet could tell Mike had something on his mind.

“What gives, Stoker?”

Mike sighed. “All right. I might as well just spill it, because I know you well enough to know you’re not gonna let me off easily.”

“You got that right,” Chet said, laughing.

“So, Gage saw what happened, right?”

Chet nodded. “We all did. Everyone just kind of stopped in their tracks when that branch snapped.”

Mike stared out the windshield. His knuckles were white where his hands clutched the steering wheel. “Everyone?”

“All four of us, pal. Not just Gage, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’ll admit it—I did look over to where he and DeSoto were working, just to make sure … well, I don’t know what I was making sure of. But he didn’t do anything stupid. And DeSoto didn’t have to pin him to the ground to keep him from doing anything … impulsive, either. It was all cool. I mean, except for the fact that you almost got cooked, and all the rest of us nearly had heart attacks.”

Mike loosened the grip on the wheel, and felt circulation returning to his tingling fingertips. “Okay. Good.”

“I gotta hand it to you guys. I don’t think I could do it,” Chet said.

“Do what?” Mike asked, even though he was quite sure he knew what Chet meant.

“Work together, in this crazy job.”

“Well,” Mike said, smiling ever so slightly, “we can.”

~!~!~!~

Back at the station, Mike and Johnny managed a quick check-in, while Mike was drying the engine after he and Chet hosed it down. 

Johnny sauntered out into the apparatus bay, at a time when he knew the other four men were busy. 

“You good?” he asked Mike, standing a yard away, with his hands in his pockets.

Mike looked up and nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“I’m okay,” Johnny said.

They stood there for another few seconds. The silence wasn’t awkward, Johnny realized. It was just … silence—something he’d come to appreciate in the year since his major injury. Part of his new appreciation certainly stemmed from becoming close to someone who was often quiet and contemplative, a foil to his own personality, which seemed to need to express everything it felt.

“Okay, good,” Mike said.

With only a few words, some of them used more than once, they managed to wash away any remaining worries left from the incident at the brush fire. They knew they’d talk the next morning, but that things were okay.

They knew they were making it work.

~!~!~!~

 _The next morning, 0820_.

For the first time, Mike and Johnny drove home from a shift in the same vehicle. Johnny parked the Rover, dusty and sooty from its trip to the brush fire, in a spot fortuitously near the stairs up to their apartment. Though the engine crew had had a quiet night, the squad was up and running most of the shift. Johnny veered to the right at the top of the stairs, out of habit, but Mike caught him by the elbow and steered him towards their new apartment. 

Mike opened the door, and they both dropped their keys onto the table in the foyer.

“Man, I’m beat,” Johnny said.

“Can you stay up long enough for some breakfast?” Mike asked. “I’ll just put on some eggs and toast.”

“Sounds good,” Johnny said, as he flopped bonelessly onto the couch. “Thanks.”

Mike threw some bread into the toaster, set up the coffeemaker, and dug through one of the boxes labeled ‘Kitchen’ in Johnny’s upright scrawl to find a skillet to cook the eggs in. Seven minutes later, he set two plates on the table in the dining area. He looked across the table into the living room, and saw that Johnny had fallen asleep on the sofa. He went over to wake him, and discovered that Johnny was lying down, with his feet on the sofa, shoes still on.

He scowled in annoyance—Johnny knew how much Mike hated having shoes on his furniture. He sat down next to Johnny’s feet, causing Johnny to instantly open his eyes.

Johnny rubbed his eyes. “Sorry,” he said.

Mike looked at Johnny’s shoes, and then back at Johnny’s face.

It didn’t matter. 

Johnny could put his shoes on the sofa, the coffee table—hell, he could get in bed with not just his socks on, but his shoes as well, and it wouldn’t matter.

“Breakfast is ready,” Mike said.

The End.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for following this saga! I hope you enjoyed it. It was interesting, after writing a series where they decide not to work together, to explore what the opposite might be like. You know me when it comes to this pairing: I can’t leave them alone for long. So expect more, at some point. I have some little epilogues to this universe outlined; they’ll appear at some point, but for now I’m gonna let the guys just bask in their new life.


End file.
